


Thrall

by upquarkAO3



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: AU/OC, Almost forgot the damn angst - oops, Other, and just a little garden-variety philosphical mysticism fer funsies, darkly snarky, funny (sometimes on purpose), in later chapters some rather brutal mental/physical/psyche blows, naughty and occasionally downright salacious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 159,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7614133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upquarkAO3/pseuds/upquarkAO3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set several years after current show in different locale; some adaptations to established characters - love them, but can't claim them: only my OC's. Lots of ideas regarding the shine of small detail to exploration of larger questions through the characters (disclaimer: my first foray into fiction and 2nd site such as this; please forgive any lapses in etiquette - I'll learn :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Say Hello to My Little Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Unenthusiastic guest at a helluva party ;-)

"Look at this, then." Nudging the dusky beauty beside him. "Who comes to a party, even one so staid as this one, as if called to war?" The amber eyes followed her boss's gaze up toward an elevated entrance landing, at first not noticing the source of his comment. Wait, not that that mousey little figure?

A petite woman, dressed to disappear in tones of grey with hair twisted back in a bun was standing just outside the doors from the upper atrium. Her arms were crossed, head slightly lowered and eyes alert. She seemed to be surveying the room and in a gathering of attention-seekers, her unobtrusiveness actually stood out.

"You can't mean her." Scoffing chuckle. "So much more candy here…" she swept her bangled wrist to indicate the tight dresses and glitzed glamour of the uniform socialite dress code smattered around the room.

"Come on, even you must get bored of saccharine plastique. Same everywhere we go."

"Please. I love processed franchise food. Tasty tacky tidbits never disappoint." She ran her tongue over her teeth in the frame of a slow grin.

He cut an amused glance over to her. "I'll be sure to let our mutual friend know how he rates…"

A scowl darkened the smooth complexion. "He's happy enough."

"I'm certain, he's a simple fellow at heart…oh, wait." His voice trailed off and eyebrows raised in amusement.

On the landing, a 'candy' with one anemic limb wrapped in the crook of an elderly man's elbow and an acrylic claw holding a champagne flute had bumped into the woman in grey, splashing fluid over her bare arm. The plumed pet simpered and tossed what looked like an artificially tittered apology before cuddling back into her aging beau. The quiet woman's expression hadn't even flickered; she simply inclined her head and offered an 'it's all right' palm before the vapid face turned away. Then there was the briefest flash of a narrowed glare as she raked a quick hand down her arm, flinging the droplets off onto the bare back of her baptizer, chameleoning immediately to an innocent 'was there something else?' look as the painted woman glanced over her shoulder. When the unlikely-in-nature pair moved off, a rather violent eye roll blessed them on their way before she subsided into watchfulness again. He found the blend of expression and camouflage entertaining and decided some exploration was in order. Preservative-laden candy tended to have a long shelf life. This person looked ready to bolt.

"Pardon, please…going to stretch my legs a bit"

'Probably not the only thing…' his associate thought.

"Not a joiner then, are we?" The voice coming from far above her head was a melodious tenor, richly saturated with a Welsh accent. Unfortunately the pleasant effect was warped by the amount of smarm in the delivery.

She didn't even bother turning to look. It had been an exhausting day and 'required' social hoop-jumping when she'd been up to her elbows in mess a scant twenty minutes before was low on her priority list. "No, not without a drink we're not." Mildly disparaging. Even, low tone. Plenty of calm ice. Her best code-report-to-frantic-neophyte voice.

The delivery amused him. "Well, come on then, that's easy enough to rectify. Let's." A strong hand dropped to the small of her back and applied gentle pressure forward.

Either this guy didn't know how to take a hint, or she was losing her touch. Both irritating to consider. She glanced up and over her left shoulder, then up some more. Wow, tall. Really tall. Being petite, the height of others had stopped being remarkable a long time ago, but this pushy person had to be over six feet, easy. They must look ridiculous standing together, the stature difference being the least of it. Her resonant entranceway companion was sinuously leaning into the doorframe she was standing just in front of. With his elbow up, head in one hand, the other to her back (still), he looked far more comfortable than she felt. Of course, he wasn't being prodded by a stranger, either. She was positioned as she always was during an assessment, however this time rather than a patient she was critiquing the room full of well-dressed people below the entrance landing upon which she stood with no little trepidation. No, most definitely not a joiner. Her feet apart, arms crossed, back straight, game-face-on guise was generally considered by most not to be an overly approachable affect. Apparently, her new friend was an exception. They probably looked to those below like a ventriloquist performance waiting to begin, and that mental image made her bristle.

"I'm aware, thanks. Just getting the lay of the land, taking it all in, please insert other appropriately dismissive commentary of your choosing." That should shut him down. AND get him off her back, in all applications of the phrase.

"Of course darling, so sorry to disturb. It's just that as host I like to make sure all my guests are having a good time." Another warm serving of smarm, and now with a generous slab of sass for a side dish. She sighed. Well, shit. Wonderful impression for a new employee of a struggling city hospital to make on the one guy willing to throw a fund raising gala for it. Even if he really was the ass she was feeling like now, a reboot on some professionally polite behavior was definitely required on her part. She turned to face him (finally that hand dropped!), then backed up two steps so as not to crane her neck. Might as well not add physical discomfort to her personal raft of poo. She extended her hand.

"My sincere apologies. It's been a long day, but that doesn't excuse the rudeness. New fish, Trauma Prac, Canaan Raene."

"Oooh, a doctor, how interesting. Take people apart all day do you? Lucifer Morningstar, friendly neighborhood philanthropist, by the way." He gave her a sardonic little bow, his offending hand going to his chest. Pointedly ignoring hers. "Lovely to meet you, I'm sure."

"Feedback's usually good, at least the first couple of times. Been overdue for a glitch." Her caustic quip pleased him. His eyebrows flickered as he chuckled, a deep slow roll washing down over her from high in the doorframe. "Not a doc, by the way. NP." He asked for clarification by raising his eyebrows further. "Nurse Practitioner. And in trauma our job is trying to put the puzzle pieces back together, actually. And you said your name was….sorry, what now?"

He finally accepted her proffered hand, deliberately changing the angle and to her surprise, brought it up to his mouth to kiss the back of it. She could swear she felt the tip of his tongue briefly in the soft press. Unnerving. His pull had required her to walk a step closer, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in mischievous delight at her left brow raised in silent objection. He clasped her hand a modicum tighter. "Morningstar, Lucifer. I believe that's the format you medical saviors prefer. " Sarcasm dripped over the word 'saviors', and he slowly smiled a charmingly predacious grin. A very strange combination in what was rapidly becoming a very strange experience and neither of which she found entirely unpleasant, much to her chagrin.

She turned her clinical assessment skills to the person trapping her hand. Quite tall. Trim, but not lanky. More long-distance swimmer build than soccer player. Definitely easy in his own skin, by the way he was positioned. Wearing a black tuxedo, and it was a shame there weren't more fancy events coming up here because he looked great in it. She mentally shook her head; where had THAT errant thought come from? Looking down (up) her arm at him, a piercing pair of brown eyes so dark they were almost black were avidly looking right back at her. Eyelashes most double-X chromosomes would kill to have framed them. Thick eyebrows and wavy dark hair, just long enough to run fingers through (what was WRONG with her?!). Fashionable stubble. Strong planes to his face and body, not the stereotypical vanilla first-casting-of-protagonist-in-a-B-movie type, but attractive. Combined with that voice, irritatingly so. She estimated him in his early forties, but something about those eyes made him seem far older. Primordial, even. Other than that, the most notable aspects of him currently were the small smirk playing over his full mouth and the fact that he still held onto her hand. Boundary issues, clearly. He was attentive to her appraisement of him, and she began to feel like she was mired in the middle of a 'Who's On First' bit regarding who was looking at whom, how. He preened a little, tilting his head and pulling her gently another step closer.

"Like what you see?" Low, sonorous voice. Tinge of thrill.

Canaan generally found that effectively targeted communication cut through a lot of crap, and replied, "You mean someone who has obviously gone to some degree of trouble to help out a place that helps others? Yes. I like it." The words and tone of her answer clearly surprised him and his expression turned momentarily thoughtful. He still hadn't loosed her hand, and she became more certain that this whole scenario was unfolding in surrealistic limbo.

Since she was unwilling to be the first person here who made two social gaffs in less than two minutes, (first rule of fund-raising: never piss off the money) she continued to leave her hand trapped, even though it was getting weird, and asked him about his name, which was weirder.

"Lucifer. Hmm. And Morningstar as the other bookend. Unusual. Show business? Deviant witness protection program? Famous family?"

"Famous father. And yes, quite unusual. You've no idea." He did not hide his identity per say, just was far less overt than he had been in the past. He found most people so discomfited by his persona that he usually wasn't grilled over it. He had a suspicion that precedent might not hold true with the one now in front of him.

"Ah."

"Your name is a bit biblical as well, darling. And granola. Make it up yourself, did you?"

"Yep." She had. New name for a new start. She had no idea why she told him that, other than the fact he was the first person to ever ask. Directness being such an integral part of her character the mere admission didn't bother her, just the fuzziness on the 'why' bit. A little tangle to turn her brain around later.

"Really? Do tell!" He was instantly more animated, and the unexpectedness of seeing a little boy appear in the man made her laugh. It was a beautiful sound, and he could have no idea how rare. He found himself charmed at the sudden light in her expression and pulled her one more step closer.

"Nope."

"Come on," he pressed, laying that voice over her like a pour of warm honey. "…this is turning out to be a more interesting conversation than most at events such as these."

"How unfortunate. Apparently you need to get out more often. Shouldn't have thought that would be a problem in your line of work."

"Yes, well, crosses to bear and all that." The sarcasm was back in spades. "Truly, tell me…you know you want to." His eyes gleamed. Convivial washes of expression over the surface of a feral undercurrent.

Strangely enough, she sort of did. Being a master of social autopilot, deliberately choosing to fly under the radar for longstanding reasons, she found his little challenge oddly refreshing. Although Lucifer couldn't know it, she usually had no difficulty with personal obfuscation either. This strange character in front of her was the first person she'd met in a very long time whom she felt was actually seeing her through her carefully constructed societal shell, and it piqued her interest on a fundamental level. She wasn't sure how she felt about that and uncertainty's unfamiliar whiff annoyed her. Trauma was very much a 'solve the problem, go on to the next' game. And there was always a 'worse next' right around every corner. The intensity of acquiring a proficient skill set in this field, and then actually doing the work effectively meant she had little time for anything else, and this suited her life now. Being good at her job, and topically pleasant but standoffish had kept her well clear of deeper personal interactions. Up until the last five minutes in the past five years she had never considered anything else.

Consideration didn't always begat change.

"You wouldn't understand and moreover, I don't require you to. Leave off." The rebuke and abrupt shift in her expression startled him, and he released her hand. She stepped back several paces, and as she moved away he was a bit stung…and more intrigued. Pulling his body up from its easy slouch, he drew himself to full height, slipped his hands in his pockets and angled toward her slightly. Most people found this posture intimidating, but provoked no obvious reaction in her; fear, irritation or otherwise. Just silence. He was certain his charismatic affect was reaching her, but rather than evoking the typical knee-jerk blurts or lolling tongues he usually got in response, she simply noticed it. Deflection by rationality, definitely a novel outcome. He resolved to loose Mazikeen to turn over a few informational stones on his new discovery in the near future. It had been a long time since he'd gone hunting, and this was a delectable premise to consider. His eyes hooded and mouth twisted appreciatively at the thought, tongue grazing the corner.

She noticed all right, but she wore control effortlessly. "I'm sure you have many other people to attend to, Mr. Morningstar. It would be rude of me to keep you ensconced here any longer." She warmed her voice but not her eyes, "Thank you, for what you're doing. It means a lot to this community." Her appreciation here was obviously genuine, but he no longer saw the Canaan he'd been sparring with, only Raene, the practitioner. Whomever that mystery was. It was unsettling watching a person disappear entirely without ever leaving his sight. The laurel he gave for her victory was a slightly mollified smile. He offered her another small bow, flavored with grace rather than derision this time, and watched her nod in return. As she spun away and strode off, his dark eyes followed her, narrowing further in concentration. Assessing power in others came naturally to him and her small form had exuded it. Of presence and frame; incredible that she cloaked it so easily early on. Camouflage of that degree took skill and practice, and was usually born of interesting reasons. Despite himself, he was impressed. Once more he curled back against the doorframe, musing.

"Not ensconced at all, darling. Ensorcelled."

A tumbler of ice bathed in amber liquid appeared from his right, and without looking over he accepted it from the woman coming from the atrium beyond the entrance. She had been there throughout the entire exchange, fuming. She stalked forward to join him in the doorway. "You do remember what happened the last time you had that look on your face? Not pretty." Her tone was acidic. Her boss's dalliances were one thing, fascination entirely another.

He took a large swallow, and crushed a cube of ice in sharp white teeth as he watched the enigma make her way through the crowd below. Cutting a glance to the side, he addressed her. "Careful now, Mazie." His voice was soft, but the warning within implicit. He waved his free hand out towards the lobby and halls beyond. "Clearly this little wreck of a place needs much more attention than it has been getting, don't you think?" The predatory grin was back, much wider and sans the charm coating. Mazikeen lowered her chin and launched a smoldering glare out at the people below. A random observer would be hard-pressed to say which one of them looked more dangerous.

Downstairs now, well-earned drink in hand and lodged on the outskirts of a peripheral helix her colleagues had formed around some talking head, Canaan chose that moment to turn back and look up at the landing. Across the crowd, Lucifer tilted his head and his glass to her, still smiling his Cheshire smile. Seemingly unfazed by either the new mystery man or the formidable expression of the woman beside him, Canaan simply raised one eyebrow, and her own glass in response before turning away.

"Oh yes, Maze," he said, draining the rest of his tumbler. "Yes, I definitely think more work is needed here."


	2. If at First You Don't Succeed...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> family and friends...the ties that bind...or bunch yer knickers

The next several weeks brought change: not enough for some, a little on the much side of much for others. One of the most labile (and least verbally restrained) players was having difficulty with the process. From several aspects.

"You canNOT be serious. That's the most ridiculous…"

He grinned.

"...asinine…"

He grinned wider.

"…INANE set of ideas I've ever heard!" A gust of air fluttered the leaves on the standard-office-décor ficus tree next to where Mazikeen was standing with fists knuckled into her hips.

Now two of them were grinning at her.

The glare she leveled in the direction of the couch would have sent any soul in Hell screaming for mercy…but her boss and his younger brother were made of finer mettle.

"So, I'm guessing you told her she had more instruction opportunities coming?" The deep voice was amused, and the corners of Amenadiel's golden eyes turned up in mirth. The rich tones of his skin were a perfect foil for the lopsidedly pristine smile he knew was smearing over his face. Just looking at her was nearly a religious experience for him; not that he'd share that thought with either of these two hellions. His naiveté rendered him incapable of realizing how transparent he was in this regard, but for different reasons they both allowed him his false sense of privacy.

"Went rather well, I think. Any road, nothing's exploded." Lucifer watched Maze's brows storm lower "...yet."

She spluttered several incoherent phrases at them.

"I'm not so sure. She's dredging out the Sumerian. Usually means she's pretty angry if she goes for the BCE curses."

Lucifer smiled winningly over at him. "And that, my dear brother, is why you are continuing to be such a boon to her education. Non-tainted angels – well, you'll do in a pinch - are perfect for teaching qualities such as forgiveness, understanding…" he winced as she threw a crystal fruit dish to shatter in a rain of sparkling pulp against the near wall. "…temperance and patience." Wryly now, "Not my forte. Yes, although that'll take you to nigh about the second coming. You might well need all of those eons if she keeps on like this."

Amenadiel just kept grinning. Mazikeen had developed her character further in the past few years than any one of them had thought possible – herself included, by moving past the simplicity of the retributive justice and protection for which she'd initially been created, to more complex layers. How much more she was capable of was a fascinating unknown. Most demons simply weren't ever given the environment to explore anything other than their base functions, and Maze had actually started the process herself by developing a reciprocal relationship with Amenadiel. Quite unusual turn of events which still had ripples of repercussions out in the world(s) beyond LA. Hating even the idea of any sort of restriction for himself and unwilling to impose it on others, Lucifer was disposed to allow the experiment to continue. Besides, seeing his angelic brother completely besotted with his demon stoked the sense of irony he so enjoyed, which was one of the reasons he kept pulling Amenadiel in to 'help' her. Sheer entertainment value.

Seeing Mena before her quelled Maze's anger…a bit. She still found his influence gallingly perplexing (although not entirely unpleasant, if she was being honest)…but there was no way in…yeah, clichéd location…that she was going to knuckle under gracefully to being led around by the nose. She snapped out words and lobbed them toward the couch like explosives.

"Did he tell you everything? Do you know what he means to do? What he wants me to do?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes at his brother's questioning glance.

"It's nothing…just a little diversion."

"It's a human diversion." Maze somehow made the third word sound repulsive.

"Another nightclub?"

"Feh. No. That got to be too much of the same thing with the same people in the same spot ad nauseum – literally and rather often. Disgusting." He shuddered. "Boring, really. I prefer variety in debauchery."

"So…?"

Lucifer smiled cheerily, bringing his hands together on his knees and angling back to envelop Amenadiel in gifted schoolboy charm. "I'm branching out. Philanthropy. Revisiting an old idea from…." His good humor faded as his brother burst into gales of laughter. Maze's cross expression softened as she heard the sound. She did appreciate Amenadiel…confusing as their private scenario was. Besides, his reaction was annoying Lucifer and she felt that was very much in order given what nonsense he expected her to put up with.

"…a situation I ran across some time back. What? I'm here, aren't I? Still. Clearly I'm intended to do…something…different. Dad hasn't even bothered with Clif Notes communique so I'm making it up as I go on. Now enough!" His brother had the decency to at least attempt to stop laughing, albeit not very effectively.

Wiping his eyes, Mena said, "All right, Luci. Explain that one to me because…" he started to titter again, which Lucifer thought was rather un-warrior-like and resolved to needle him about it later on. "…I'm sure your logic is sound and well thought out. As always." Swallowed snicker.

Lucifer was a bit piqued. He actually had learned (and retained) a thing or two over the unrelenting years spent here with humans, and one of his favorite pastimes was still to see what kind of spin he could wield on their intentions. His brush of involvement with the death of the philanthropist Dunlear and subsequent funding of more than few scholarships through that foundation had given him the kernel of an idea. Money mattered to him very little, but clearly was not the case to most others. Pure greed for its own sake still vexed him; he considered it base. However, he had become intrigued with the idea of providing fiscal opportunity to those lacking resources rather than imagination in addition to 'favors'. It seemed cleaner somehow. He found free will and creativity to be closely related and by providing raw materials for little universes of influence… he found it amusing to observe the denouement without having to be caught up in mundane detail of the process. Trying to explain this adequately to his brother and his demon (both of whose primary functions were fulfilments of specific roles as opposed to innovative ones) was likely to be frustrating for all. He ghosted them a brief explanation for mere simplicity's sake. After all, fallen or not, he was still First Son and he shared only what he pleased to garner required cooperation.

He could see from their faces that they did not grasp his premises completely, and a brief recollection of a conversation he'd had a short time ago popped to mind.

'You wouldn't understand and moreover, I don't require you to.'

That part hadn't been a rebuke, as he'd initially thought. It was a statement of pure fact and it applied here perfectly. The 'leave off' bit following was delivered just because he'd been expecting her to cave to him as most others did under his collusion, and she wasn't having it. Display of free will despite copious influence otherwise…now that he understood implicitly. The results were nearly never boring, either.

As timing (or fate if there was such a thing?) would have it his sensitive ears pricked. Helicopter blades. He rose and walked away, feigning irritation with Maze and Mena. The act so closely mirrored his actual mien it was rather convincing…until Maze noticed the sound as well, and the direction of the window he chose to lean against.

Amenadiel took the moment to settle in with Maze, starting to speak, but caught himself at her glare at Lucifer across the room. It was a different shade from her earlier irritation and he waited for her to fill him in. When her irritation morphed to stoniness without any explanation, he finally asked.

"You're not really annoyed at spending some more 'quality time' together…"

She startled, broken out of her focus and came to flop herself down beside him on the couch. "What? No…just don't get all uppity. You and I are both well aware I'm far beyond your sphere of influence in other areas."

He wanted to gloss over that quickly. "So…what's the trouble?"

"Humans. That's the trouble."

"You could be more specific. We've been working on honesty, right?"

She sighed in irritation. "Look. It was never my idea to come here…" a small sweep of her hand indicating the room. "…or here for that matter." Both hands circling, presumptively including 'this world', Mena guessed. "Duty bade me follow. They fascinate him, not I. Yes, some surprises - usually bad. And they're weak. Meat suits over vapor."

"So?"

"Look for yourself…"

Amenadiel followed her gaze over to where his brother was nonchalantly leaning his head on the glass, staring out.

"What's the big deal with him pouting? Not like it's a new trick."

"Just wait. Maybe this time…"

Amenadiel snorted. Maze might be developing, but she was still a demon, and annoyingly cryptic as it suited her. He sat back on the couch, letting his shoulder brush her arm. If he had to eyeball his diva brother he could at least make good use of his time. He'd just started to consider stretching over the back of the couch (it worked in those movies humans loved), when she leaned forward quickly, elbows jutting into her knees. "There! Look." Ugh. Lucifer could thwart him even from all the way across the room.

Once more following her glance, he watched his brother's face. Although the position of his body hadn't changed, his eyes had. Narrowed in focus and watchful.

"What's he looking at?" Stage whisper to Maze.

"Go see for yourself." The look on her face could shatter diamonds.

With a quick roll of his own eyes, Amenadiel rose to walk over to where his brother stood, trying to approximate apology in his facial expression and body language. "Hey, Luci, I'm sorry I laughed…those ideas just sounded so…strange…coming from you."

"Mmm." Non-committal response.

Yes, Lucifer's interest was elsewhere – he'd never pass up an opportunity to rub someone's nose in an apology. As Amenadiel came to stand beside him, he looked in the same direction. The building his brother had this lofty space in was one of the taller ones in this section of the city and the vantage point was quite inclusive. A normal late afternoon urbanscape. Vehicles like colorful insects crawling over the clogging roads. Horns blaring where traffic stenosed. Some activity on a lower, open rooftop a few blocks over diagonally. He glanced at Lucifer. Yes, this was the source. A helicopter had landed on the wide rooftop, and the back was opening. Two people got out, guiding one more fastened to a wheeled stretcher. More people, all dressed in the same colors were hurrying to meet them from an open double doorway at one end of the roof. Some of them interacted with the prone one, some seemed to be speaking with the others from the helicopter. One from the second group suddenly made a quick movement to leap on the stretcher and begin rhythmic presses on the chest of the one strapped down. The whole collective wheeled like a flock of birds, running the stretcher and its two riders to disappear into the shadows beyond the double doors. They closed after, and the roof was quiet again. Amenadiel was puzzled.

"What was that about?"

"It's a hospital." Lucifer's features held a flat affect, but his eyes were quicksilver active. "One of the places I'm interested in providing with assistance, much to your amusement, apparently. Maze can tell you all about it if she chooses; I'm weary of this." He turned on his heel, leaving them standing in his wake as he grabbed his jacket and swept out the door.

Amenadiel looked over at Maze and shrugged. He was still perplexed by his brother's ideas, and his actions, but perhaps a little altruism wasn't such a bad thing. When Maze came to stand next to him by the windows he said as much to her. She gritted her teeth, looking more the predator of old.

"He might be changing, as I am, but some things don't. We held a benefit for that place some weeks back – laying groundwork for his 'brave new world' nonsense. You know how he likes to integrate himself in the local mesh. Well, a human female he spoke to works there. Made an impression, apparently."

Amenadiel found poor equivocation between Lucifer's normal recreational taste in humans, male or female, and someone who might fit Maze's clear concern. He was stymied. "I wouldn't have thought someone in a line of service would draw his attention…" his voice fell away as her side eye chilled him.

"Oh no. You don't mean…"

"I do."

"But last time…"

"I know. I said as much to him that night."

"And?"

Mazikeen shook her head. "And just how well do you think Lucifer listens to dissention when he doesn't wish to, Amenadiel?"

"Erm…"

"Exactly. Some lessons may bear repeating. And I haven't told you the half of it yet."

The more she expounded, the more Amenadiel cringed.


	3. Some Like it Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew walks to blow off steam could result in more of it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Some (mildly) suggestive ideas and naughty language. Far more of both (not so mild) will ensue, but I'm a good warner :-)

The problem with being one of a kind is just that – it's a very singular experience. Particularly when pinned in conundrum. Designed to be powerful and feeling powerless, accustomed to dominion but loathing the venue and seeking to bridge the gap between creation and destruction – within as well as without. It was enough to give anyone one hell of a headache. Lucifer stalked the streets in long strides after leaving his office. He'd found throwing himself into swirls of humanity had proved a good diversion in the past. Most were so…simple. Finite. Little chips of unifaceted color to amuse and distract him with the sensory confetti of sex and chemicals. But it was as he had said to Maze weeks ago – the bloom was off the novelty rose. Well…appreciating the hand in hand approach of a gorgeous woman and her equally attractive male counterpart…not entirely. He smiled slowly at them, running the tip of his tongue over his upper lip. Enjoying the falter in their steps as their eyes took him in.

"Lovely evening…" He was gratified to see the flush grow over the woman's cheeks and the blanch on the man (who right up until this point thought he was one thousand percent a flaming heterosexual). It was almost too easy. Wait. It was too easy. Boring. Fish in a barrel. Dead-eyed fish at that.

Lucifer huffed to himself in irritation as he changed his mind and swept past them. His only amusement was considering the rather awkward conversation that would likely ensue when they both tried to explain the looks of devastating disappointment to one another (and he hoped the guy had a good password encryption on his computer since his search for subject on porn sites was likely to alter after this). He barely noticed he'd circled back in direction toward his building and definitely didn't notice he'd sped up with his gaze down. Add to that turning a corner and it was a recipe for disaster.

Usually lightning-quick in response, Lucifer was so muddled in his own thoughts it took him a second to realize that he'd plowed straight into a small group of people, and…one of them was now disrobing. Bloody hell. He'd have to ratchet back his aura; can't have people literally throwing themselves in his wake, naked. That was the epitome of crass, and not the good kind. Wait, hang on…he took a quick second to pull himself together and reassess.

They were between the hospital and the parking garage adjacent to it. Like any other city street where people were basically trapped either by job or circumstance, there were a plethora of silver food and beverage trucks scattered along the sidewalk and the one nearest simply reeked of coffee. He realized that he saw three cups and each of the four were wearing the same blue scrubs he'd become watchful for on his recent rooftop voyeurisms. Well, scratch that…only three - and a half…of them in blue scrubs. That one was well on her way to removing the top now saturated with burning hot liquid. Four sets of eyes wide open, three mouths gaped, two hands finally gathered the dripping hem of the shirt away from one face and threw it down on the ground next to the disposable cup he'd knocked right into her. Lucifer startled, but she hadn't even looked up yet.

"It's been such a stupid day. I was really looking forward to that."

Canaan's hands were on her hips, wryly assessing the caffeine carnage before her.

He was speechless. For once.

So were her three colleagues. For once.

The brief moment of silence was broken by a scatter of voices.

"I do so apologize!"

"Are you okay?" "Why don't you watch where you're going, asshole?!" "Did you get burned?"

Silence fell again in response to the dismissive flick of her hand. "All good. Well, mostly. Five second rule does NOT apply to sucking caffiend crack off public sidewalks. Dammit…" finally looking up in front of her and rolling her eyes, "…Ah. Mr. Morningstar. I see you've added agent of mayhem to your philanthropic resume."

He was struck speechless once more. She looked as lovely to him dressed in a mock-necked black tank and spattered blue scrub pants as she had in the loose grey silk pantsuit he'd first seen her in. Even her hair was the same; twisted back in a bun, only now with a few loose tendrils trailing. In the evening light it was the color of a stormy beach sunset: golden tones suffused with caramel and cerise, a few streaks of early pearl. Light hazel eyes were the sky after that storm now; washed blue-gray under chestnut lashes and brows. They were tinged with amusement.

Once again, Lucifer and her coworkers all chimed in together. Over the next several minutes apologies were made and accepted, proverbial feathers were smoothed and Canaan allowed herself to be led back to the silver truck for a replacement cup while her coworkers waited to make sure no other trouble ensued.

Ordering for her quickly before she could pull her wallet out, Lucifer asked how she took her coffee.

"Black. Like my soul."

He turned to her in surprise. "What a thing to say!" Her face was completely non-committal.

"What would you know about it?"

"More than I'd like…"

That got a reaction out of her. She glanced up at him, puzzled by the forlorn tone and expression. It evaporated quickly – so much so she began to doubt herself seeing it. He handed her the cup and lid and she stepped several paces away from him to fasten it securely, tossing a rakish side eye his way. "I appreciate the gesture. In fact, I 'appreciate' it so much you can just stay way the hell over there so I can 'appreciate' it on my tongue inside of trying the osmosis approach again."

He laughed, holding his hands up in front of himself. "I'm harmless, I promise."

She leveled an assessing gaze at him over the top of the cup as she sipped. "Somehow I doubt that."

"I don't lie." He was grinning, but the look in his eye didn't quite dovetail with the smile.

"You probably don't reveal completely either."

Again, 'What a thing to say!' popped into his head. Biting the words, only the look appeared on his face.

"It's all right. Nor do I." Different tone now as they walked back to her group. "We have to get back – our ten-minute hiatus has now cut to five thanks to this little diversion. You all didn't have to wait, but I appreciate it." Gathering up the cooled shirt from the ground and turning back to him. "Well, Mr. Morningstar, I'd love to say it was nice to run into you but like you, I don't lie. Unless by omission or whim."

He tilted his head with a grin, entertained. "Perhaps we'll meet again under different circumstances."

"For your sake, I hope not. The only way I meet new people is in the trauma bay or on my operating table."

Lucifer simply gave her a flicker of his eyebrows before a few genteel parting words to placate her group. As they headed back in for the rest of what promised to be an equally trying evening shift, Canaan was surprised by the chatter.

"Do you know who that was?"

"Yes. I said his name didn't I? The person who threw the fundraiser some weeks back." Her co-workers rolled their eyes at her, smirking.

"No. that's what he does. Do you know who he is?"

She shook her head, perplexed. "What do you mean?" One of them answered, glibly.

"I keep forgetting you've only been here a short time. That guy is one of the more virulent, potent playboys in this town. Women…"

"Men…" chimed another.

"Yeah, if it walks on two legs and is of legal age he's into it. And you were getting quite a look..."

Canaan turned a terse glare to the last one speaking. "Hardly. People are so lawsuit-happy the guy was just probably relived I didn't have third-degree burns. Come to think of it, so am I." She wanted to wax off this subject quickly. Her personal life was never a topic she wanted at the forefront of any conversation. People being people, she knew that being a newcomer meant having rumors and speculation thrown about, but if there was no actual information to be had, that's all it was. Her professional life was all she wanted anyone to share with her. Anything further was gallingly reprehensible….and she'd worked too hard and given up too much to let someone pull the rug out from under her now. She snapped back into her role and affect effortlessly.

"Go on ahead. I'll meet you upstairs. Laundry bin and new shirt clearly required from locker room." Turning on her heel she stalked off.

As the other three waited for the elevator the scuttlebutt continued.

"Man, she is a cold fish."

"Just new…and she's pretty okay. Just keeps to herself. Her wrangling with Dr. Bohner on weekends is becoming the stuff of legend, too. The man is a complete dick and she gives it right back."

"Naw, dude, I meant…look, I'm happily married and I'd still cross the street for that guy. I'd rather apologize to my wife than miss out on that piece."

The only woman in the group, well beyond her colleagues in years and experience of all kinds, sighed wistfully. "He's enough to make a lady consider all sorts of extreme plastic surgeries…"

"Faye, honey, I don't know if there's enough monocryl in this dump to nip/tuck all the stuff you'd need done – tops AND tails…OUCH!" Laughter from the man's reaction to her well-placed punch. As the elevator door closed on the cheerfully deranged banter so common to people in extreme jobs, elsewhere two other minds were reviewing the incident.

One was resolving to avoid any need for further speculation into her private life at all costs.

The other was determined to actively seek out more opportunities to have his way – with attention to project ideas. And perhaps a little more 'personalized' attention as well.

And he'd had a far longer time to perfect his methods...


	4. Making Friends and Influencing People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irritation is always awesome :-)

"You've got to be kidding me. I've been 'volunteered' by whom to do what now? For which incredibly useful committee?"

Canaan was livid.

The House RN just sighed.

"Look, it's actually supposed to be an interesting project…and quite helpful to the hospital. Could be 'quite helpful' to your career as well in the future…" He trailed off, realizing his politically correct words were having little intended effect.

"The only plans I have to 'further my career', Restrepo, are to spend time where I'm supposed to be: cutting, sewing and seeing patients. NOT jumping through every hoop and a half a suit thinks up. And not getting shoveled under just because some…" She narrowed her eyes and bit back what loomed on her tongue.

He grinned. "You can say it. It's just us in here."

"Okay…'COMPLETE TWAD' – I can be careful with my final consonants; don't you fret – is interested in being a jerk outside of the OR as well as inside apparently."

He sniggered. It was true. The man was being deliberately provoking. The older doctor had been none too keen on this new employee even through the hiring process. As far as he was concerned, Trauma belonged to men, doctors and those willing to play the game – in that order. Canaan wasn't, wasn't and didn't. Plus, she was good AND didn't particularly care what he thought, which irked the guy. He'd decided to use his influence to irritate her right back, and he was going to be successful at it.

"Look Raene…every department needs to send two reps. We only had one volunteer from yours AND you have managed to be here nearly six weeks without getting sucked into a committee yet as Bohner pointed out…so…tough luck, buttercup."

"Pete…" she wheedled the personal approach, but could see his eyes glaze over with a big fat, 'Nope.'

New tactic.

"PETE. I'm not even medical. I'm nursing. He should have no say over me. I'm going to go and…"

The House cut her off. "No, what you are is 'go-ing'. Every other Monday for an hour. First meeting is in two weeks. Bring your own coffee – theirs sucks. Enjoy."

Realizing she'd hit the limits of her very limited sphere of influence, Canaan just shut up, smiled tersely and left his office after closing the door just slightly too hard. She liked Pete Restrepo. He seemed a decent guy and tried to look out for his staff, but she just hated the 'professional' games everyone had to play whether they wished to or not. Dinosaurs like this surgeon were to blame for that sort of shit, and it was hard not to take personal affront when it was messing with one's own already tight schedule. Stalking along the corridors back to the trauma wing she happened to see the man in question and decided to fight crass with class. Summoning her most appropriate professional face she made a beeline for him as he was first out of a board room.

"Dr. Bohner. Just the man I wanted to see."

The doctor simultaneously bristled and smirked. He was sure by now this upstart had gotten her heads' up. He was with several other board members and guests and was right now looking forward to having a little scene in which 'emotional women' could be shown to be inappropriate. He bemusedly found himself shaking her extended hand.

'Canaan…?"

"Oh wonderful. 'Scott'. Scott, it is. I too feel we're definitely well past due regarding the first-name basis stage. I just wanted to thank you for the glowing review you gave my House RN regarding my nomination; especially since it's such a potentially influential position on a pilot committee with quite a lucrative benefactor."

He blanched. Christ. It totally was. He'd been so looking to put the screws to her in a non-clinical time-suck he had not considered all the aspects.

"I had no idea that you felt so strongly about my skills that you recommended me over members of your own medical team. It makes me feel encouraged and engaged here…and you know just how important that is as a new liaison between medical and nursing in trauma practice. I really appreciate it. Can't wait to keep you in thrall with each iota during our time together on weekends. Really looking forward to that – thank you so much for the opportunity." She gave him her best winning grin coupled with 'you're a fool' glare from her eyes as she moved off.

Dr. Scott Bohner was highly irritated to say the least, but dare not show it.

Lucifer Morningstar, three people back from the ambush, was highly amused to say the most but dare not show it.

He'd wondered what the bottleneck was about and while he'd not seen Canaan, like everyone else, he'd heard the whole exchange clearly. He also recognized what he began to consider her 'trademark' sarcasm perfectly cloaked in politeness. He'd been wondering how to see more of her by being involved here….and just think, here she was, hand-delivered to him by an outdated, derelict gasbag. Lovely. He made appropriately polite noises of his own (these people were mostly the means to his own ends) and excused himself…wondering if he could wind up wrangling a tour or two of this place…and now letting that deliciously sinister smile of his roam loosely as his imagination.

Two weeks later, Canaan found herself walking back toward the same board room she'd pinned Scott Bohner in front of for the 'oh-I'm-SO-sure-it's-a-good-use-of-a-clinician's-time' meeting. Taking Pete Restrepo's warning to heart, she'd come armed with coffee. And her notepad, and what was trying to pass for an open mind. Creative fiscal appropriation was a large part of modern healthcare, and this place had a history of struggle. It would be interesting to see what would transpire here today and perhaps even what good may come of it. Maybe.

"Returning to the scene of the crime, are we?" A rather familiar accent floated from slightly behind her.

She made a point of neither speaking nor turning to, but an exaggerated gesture of transferring her full cup from the side near him to the other – extending it away from her body.

"Oh come on." Rueful tone now directly beside her.

She looked up. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark suit and dark humor in the pursed lip, glint and raised eyebrow. Third time seeing the man and just like the other two, it looked like he'd stepped straight out of a laundry press. It made her scrubs and lab coat feel a bit unpolished, but then she remembered she didn't care. Right? Right.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I was here the day you congratulated your curmudgeonly friend on his choice of candidate for my little brainstorming bit. Tell me, you're not even slightly interested?" Little smile.

She wasn't sure if he was referring to his project or…..

"I tend not to bother with opinions until I learn more information about a given topic."

He wasn't sure if she was referring to his project or….

"Well. Guess we'll both find out what there is to discover, yes?"

As they entered the room, he swept to the front of the long table, ignoring the screen and podium with computer on it. She wasn't surprised…he really didn't seem like a PowerPoint and laser pointer kind of guy. Not everyone had arrived yet, and he chatted pleasantly with a few big wigs up near his end, and she parked in a spot near the other and pulled a book out of one of the pockets of her coat. As the hospital staff continued to file in Lucifer took a moment to observe her. Pleasant enough expression as people greeted each other and made small talk, but she stuck with a short smiles and nods before burying her nose again. He looked a little closer, prepared to read the title of some dreary medical tome.

Well that was unexpected…Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

He wasn't the only one who got a surprise. As the last of the expected people arrived and Lucifer greeted everyone and began to speak, she was impressed. The project itself was laudable: he wanted pilot research done to assess the lack of community health needs and then have the committee choose either several smaller programs to fund or one large one over which he'd have final say. During the Q & A session someone had asked him why and how he'd come up with his thought process…and of course, how much money the hospital could expect. He was quick to skim over 'an inheritance received from his estranged father…looking for projects to breathe life into along the lines of his wishes.' And that the reward would hinge on merits of the ideas (with the look on his face, he seemed particularly pleased by this aspect). He was clearly intelligent, eloquent and seemed to know just how to interact perfectly with each different personality while keeping himself in the forefront of everyone's attention (no easy task in a room full of big egos). It was like watching a technicolor chameleon.

As the meeting wrapped and he got swamped with some vultures keen on the scent of money, she ducked out. She turned briefly as she left to find him looking right at her. Canaan found the little reactionary twist in her belly slightly unnerving in the exactly the same way his kiss on her hand had been. However, she was also more engaged. Watching him speak for nearly an hour with grace, acumen and the 'proper' amount of charm (skills she certainly did not feel in possession of) in order to get something decent accomplished…well, it was certainly…more than she'd reckoned on. Lucifer noticed the responsive look and tucked it away, finding it interesting that the most reaction he'd gotten from her was when he was least trying to spin his allure. Hmm. Well. He'd have an hour or so every other Monday to explore that further.

Turns out he didn't have to wait that long. Over the next few days he had gotten his tours, seeing for himself what the status quo was. One of the premier spots was the relatively newer helipad and level one trauma bays. This was a smaller city, geographically isolated and having higher-level capability was important; not just here, but for the surrounding areas. Since this was the end of the day he'd expected to leave afterwards and find his own way out. Finally freeing himself from the clutch of the fawning man to whom he'd been assigned Lucifer leaned over the edge of the railing, looking back toward his office, windows glowing in the late spring sunset. Wondering what Maze and Mena were up to there – the two had been even more annoyingly conspiratorial of late. From across the rooftop he heard a door slam shut, and mentally cringed, thinking he was once again going to be accosted. But nothing. He turned. No one.

Wait.

Around the corner of the trauma bay doors he saw a hand on the railing. Just a hand.

Curious, he approached…and slowed, brow furrowing.

Sitting precariously ON the narrowly flat top rail (ten stories up!) with toes tucked under the second bar, shoulders slumped and hands spread wide to the sides was a smaller figure. A female figure, although it was somewhat difficult to tell in the shapeless blue tents they all wore. His sharp eyes took in the spatter of who-knows-what over the protective boot covers and lower legs of her pants. The weary position of her body. He advanced until he could see her face in profile. Canaan. She had her eyes closed, white cords twining up from a pocket to disappear under her cloth cap. Listening. He paused some distance away, not wanting to startle her. Why in Heaven would she put herself in such a dangerous position? After watching her for a few minutes, she opened her eyes and looked out over the city with a rather resigned thousand-yard stare. He walked over, running a hand along the railing, lifting it briefly to move around hers and clamping down between her grip and her hip. Leaning with his back against the rail and his arm bracing hers.

She didn't move.

Strangely enough, she'd been thinking about him.

Whenever she got a minute to escape during a rough day, she liked to come here and listen to music. The first song on the 'Shitty Day' playlist was always 'Optimistic Thought' by Blues Traveler. The magic of shuffle being what it was, the next song was by the same artists, 'Bagheera'. The concept and the character of the song reminded her of Lucifer; all coiled predatory tensile charm and somehow just out of lockstep with this world. It was as if the mere fact of thinking about him had summoned the person. Disconcerting.

It was probably the fault of her current mindset and state of exhaustion that her next actions were quite out of character. She didn't respond at all to his look of questioning concern, only reached under her cap to take the nearest earhook off, sweep her hand over the side of his head and place it on his. Lucifer had been somewhat alarmed to see her move the stabilization of her hand off the bar, more startled to feel her touch him and then pleased when she replaced her hand right back where it had been – well almost. Now their thumbs were touching in addition to their upper arms. He might've felt her lean in a little as well…perhaps not. He listened to the song already playing, curious.

"Bagheera walked into the bar

And poured himself a drink

His fur was stained with the blood of monkeys

And he needed time to think…"

Here she smiled at him. A little jadedly, but clearly not contemplating spectacularly messy self-destruction. He still shot her a patronizing eyebrow after tilting his head to look over the drop. She rolled her eyes, mouthing the word 'wuss' at him. He chuckled.

"The man at the bar said

'What are you doing here?'

Bagheera let go a low soft purr

That kept the man from coming near

He said, "I'm Bagheera, the mighty panther

And that jungle is my home

I'm free, free in all I see

And that makes me free to roam."

Here he smiled, a little haughtily and she grinned back.

"Sometimes to feel the music of the jungle

It can cause you pain…"

Canaan moved suddenly, both hands coming off the railing. Lucifer tensed, ready to steady her but she was focused. One hand fished in her pocket to cut the music off, and the other unclipped her pager from her waistband to stare intensely at it. He'd not heard anything – she must've had it set to vibrate. Thinking about vibrating toys galvanized the beginnings of a leer, but the look on her face stopped that fun contemplation rather quickly. Raene the clinician was here, replacing Canaan. She reached up to him again, brushing his face as she lifted the earhook away. Shoving it in her pocket with the other one, she spun away from him to drop her feet down off the railing and back to solidity. While glad she appeared coordinated, her little high-wire balancing act seemed a bit…cavalier...for a mortal to him.

She reclipped the pager on her pants and looked up. "It's going to get quite busy up here very shortly. You need to go." She removed the cloth cap she wore and pulled the pin out of the messy chignon, wanting to refasten it tighter before the next round of havoc. It was still damp from whenever she'd showered last and he could smell a clean, citrus scent on her. He inhaled deeply. It was long, too. A waterfall of loose waves reached nearly to her waist, catching the wind. There was something unexpectedly pulling about the veiled wildness of this aspect she kept hidden.

"Well, well! You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes they're good. But not all. Or even most." She was quiet, almost musing on the last phrase.

His quizzical mien flowed to knowing look, "We have more in common than I thought, darling."

She didn't even blink. Something dangerously unequivocal in those dark eyes let her know he wasn't teasing. The quiet, mutually assessing moment following didn't last long – she was already securing those tresses he'd wanted to wrap his hands in and running the pin back through. She broke his reverie by snapping her fingers.

"Hey. Morningstar. Did you hear me? You need to scoot. Now." Work voice, not 'woman' voice.

Yes. Moment definitely over.

Lucifer left as she directed, down the access stairwell just as the dual trauma bay doors slid open, exsanguinating people and the whup-whup-whup of helicopter blades sounded over the rooftops. Walking back to his office slowly, lost in the busyness of the sidewalks in rush hour, he wondered what she had meant by 'surprises'. Hours of hard work later when Canaan was finally free to drive home she felt the strain of the day in almost every muscle. But she still felt the phantom pressure of his arm on hers….and somehow, that was much more noticeable than any other lingering aches and pains.


	5. Benched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm still learning a bit on how to use the settings on this site, leaving the rating as is because mature aspects could be a small part anywhere in addition to explicitness and whumps I'll definitely mention. I'll leave notes prior to the body of the text regarding violence, triggers and some deliciously deviant behavior on the parts of the characters. So this chapter is fairly light-hearted and has some mildly naughty references. I know it's been a slow lead-in, but one of the things I've always loved is establishment of detail. And as everyone knows, that's where our devil lives. Oh, and being a visual person, Amenadiel's eyes are a rich golden tone rather than the lovely brown of D.B. Woodside's because I think contrast is interesting. And Canaan looks an amalgam of features/expressions of Anna Kendrick and Sarah Silverman because quirky/pretty fits her character. To me, anyway…the lovely thing about imagination is that everyone's got one! Hope you enjoy the little flicker, as always, feedback is welcome and appreciated ;-)

It was a beautiful early-summer morning in the park. Sun shining, birds chirping, so far no pickpockets, few foul pet souvenirs, low-pollen count and lower humidity index. A banner day on tap. The single thundercloud was on the face of one Lucifer Morningstar. He cut a cool figure in a cream linen-wool fresco blend suit and shirt of robins-egg blue. Raw silk tie with end flung over one shoulder. One arm across the back of a shady bench, ankle on opposite knee, eyes unfocused toward the open book on his lap. He looked the picture of dapper relaxation, almost as if he'd just come from a great brunch and better blowjob; both of which were true. He couldn't fault the waiter for the very attentive service he'd been rendered. Surely an "A" for effort. Left the guy with a great tip and broken heart after refusing to give his contact info, but hey, there were risks inherent in play with a fickle devil.

Quasi-satisfactory carnal escapades were the least of his issues.

His projects with the humans were not going as smoothly as he'd hoped. The hospital here was only one little tick in a multitude of places, but whether it was supporting arts, healthcare, scientific research…even refugee aid there was one common confounding denominator. People. 'You'll have whatever you need so long as you work out something effective to do'. How bloody difficult could that possibly be? The apparent answer: very. Faux political cliques, shifting loyalties, nitpicking, knot-tying, temper tantrums vying even some of his own on a run for his money (literally). People were exhausting. He was beginning to understand better why dad had nearly wiped them off the slate a couple of times despite professing to love them. And no word from the heavens on whether or not his latest ideas were good (no lightning bolts or burning shrubberies to say they were bad, either…just nothing at all). Frustrating, to say the least. And very little relief in other areas of his life either.

Mazikeen and Amenadiel had been even more surreptitious than normal lately. As if there was anything 'normal' about a love-struck angel tutoring a demon through her schizophrenic development. He'd have far preferred some depraved acts with Maze – having created her at least she understood him. There'd be none of that bloody mooning about afterwards he'd come to detest from humans. He wasn't abstaining from her out of misguided chivalry toward his brother; he simply didn't feel the balance of pleasure was worth Amenadiel's violent moping if he knew, as he surely would (Maze usually having little use for filter). The first angel other than him to actually fornicate and here he was far more 'human' about it regarding attachment as opposed to a fun pastime for as many players you could get in the game. Feh. Human emotion. Baffling, really. Perils of being a sex god where every altar wanted an actual sacrifice.

Besides refusing to identify his own pitfalls with emotion and definitely NOT defining his latent unease as 'loneliness' he was also deliberately choosing to ignore one of the other reasons he'd felt unsatisfied lately. Until he saw her running toward him. As in, actually running. Toward him. His bench and the one directly opposite were only one of many seating arrangements scattered throughout the park and along the graveled trails. Of the bizarre ways humans chose to punish themselves he found running for exercise quite strange. Acting as neither predator nor prey, just loping along mindlessly. Sometimes in groups for completely arbitrarily chosen distances: as if 0.2 miles after 26 really meant anything to anyone in modern times. Hell that expenditure had killed the first chap doing it – one would think it'd not be something to sell T-shirts over ages later.

He realized he was trying to distract himself.

It wasn't working.

Canaan was dressed (if one could call throwing random pieces of material on 'getting dressed') in a navy short-sleeve shirt with black cotton shorts. Strap of a white tank over her collarbone visible where the too-large top had shifted. Mismatched socks and ratty-looking sneakers. Leanly muscled legs she'd been hiding under those loose clothes. That amazing mane tortured and hidden back in a barretted knot. He could see the light sheen of sweat and flush on her skin from here. The woman looked every short inch a hot mess….and yet despite 'dessert' after brunch just a short time ago he wanted to pull her under the nearest tree to tear those dirty clothes right off.

He quickly realized what this line of thought was doing to the line of his fly. Blasted immortal stamina. She hadn't seen him get – perhaps she wouldn't. As the trail curved up the slight hill he was on she lifted her gaze from the ground immediately ahead of her to look up through where it wound through the trees. Right at him.

Well, he was pretty spectacular. He'd be hard to miss.

Speaking of…he quickly flipped the book over on his lap, grateful for a thick hardcover edition.

As she approached, she slowed down.

Oh dad. She was going to stop and talk to him. Bloody hell. He quickly crossed his hands over the spine of the book tented over the bone underneath it, and managed what he hoped was a mildly pleasant grin.

She thought he looked like he'd just swallowed a bug. Or was having a stroke. She slowed further, a bit concerned.

Canaan paused at the opposite bench, lightly bouncing in place on her toes. "Hello, Mr. Morningstar. Everything okay?"

Certainly not. "Lucifer. Do call me Lucifer." If she was going to make him react like a pimpled pubescent child they could at least be on a first name basis. And she simply must stop that infernal bouncing before this book snapped up and hit him square on the chin. "Sit down for a moment, won't you?" For a terrified blip of time he was afraid she'd plop her dusty (hot, slickly sweaty – oh stop!) body down next to his but he was saved that indignity when she took a seat on the other bench.

"Lucifer it is, then." She smiled a bit.

"What?"

"Sorry, it's just so…unusual. You must've gotten some flack when you were younger."

"Indeed." She had no idea how right she was for the wrong reasons. Turnabout was fair play.

"You're one to talk – or not – about yours."

"Touché."

He was definitely interested in having something else to focus on, but was also curious. "It's clear you're reluctant to speak much on the subject…" he watched her eyes go guarded, "…but do tell me why you chose that name." She was mulling his request over, he could tell.

'Two conditions." She held up a slightly tanned arm, requested number of fingers pointing up.

He tilted his head in agreement.

"One, no more prying. Other than you, no one here has and I'd like to keep it that way." By her expression, she was quite serious about this. He nodded.

"Two, try not to laugh. At least not too hard." Well, that was a surprise. He pulled a face at her, but nodded again.

"Okay." She pulled her legs up on the bench Sufi-style and gently pushed on her knees, not wanting her muscles to tighten. He made sure his grip on the book was secure. "I was, well…am still probably," snorting a little, "…a total nerd as a kid. Nose always in a book. Still a habit…which you might understand, actually." She waved a hand at his lap and for a horrifying second thought she was going to ask him to pass it over. "I loved everything…fairy tale monsters, history, science fiction…you name it. Had quite a torrid affair with the whole 'cradle of human development' thing."

He was going to find it impossible to hear the word 'torrid' ever again without needing to excuse himself.

"You mean the stories in the Bible?"

Sarcasm fueled the uneven heave of her eyebrows. "Which version? And no, not really. You did just hear me mention science fiction, right? More of a left-brained girl. Anyway. Loved the idea of the story of Canaan…that there was a place you could go where things were better than where you were presently. You just had to work to arrive." A little wistful here. She shook herself out of it with a reproachful glance at him. "Here's the 'don't laugh' part: it was the name of my imaginary friend."

He had made a promise. And kept it. But couldn't help the sardonic look on his face.

"You. Had an imaginary friend named 'Canaan'?"

"Yep, sure did. From kindergarten through second grade. Great conversationalist."

"You were reading historical texts at that age?"

"Sure, why not?"

"You must have been such an odd human child…"

Canaan thought that his turn of phrase was the odd thing. "Probably. Depending on whom you ask, still am."

"So, the 'Raene' bit then…"

She cut him off. "Nope. More than enough about me. What are you avoiding out here on such a lovely day?"

He decided that his first impulse of 'I'm trying to avoid throwing you into the dirt and making an absolute spectacle of ourselves' might be misconstrued as too forward. He settled for, "Just enjoying the morning. Sitting on a nice, solid bench an appropriate distance from hard ground underneath." He pursed his lip and cocked an eyebrow at her. He still thought her high railing perch on the hospital rooftop was foolish.

She rolled her eyes at him. "You're not afraid of heights are you?"

"I had a rather hard fall in my 'youth'. You could say the experience stayed with me."

Canaan couldn't decide whether it was his accented speech pattern that made some of his words and phrases sound off to her, or if he was actually using strange inflections. However, he did seem as if he had something else on his mind and she mentioned it. He sighed. Even if Maze had been around more to confide in, she didn't really understand what he was trying to do with his projects…probably because he wasn't really sure where he was trying to go with them either. He'd just wanted something…potentially more fruitful…to occupy himself with. And that just led back to the run-around of the people involved being frustratingly obtuse. But Canaan actually seemed interested and after all, she was on one of his panels, so figuring 'nothing ventured, nothing gained' he said, "Right, here's the thing…"

Lucifer was surprised at the short conversation that followed. He found he could speak easily with her and she was an attentive listener, asking a few questions that actually showed decent insight for a human. It was a strange dichotomy: he was physically uncomfortable (Still! Blast it.), but mentally soothed and even a bit entranced as they talked together. For her part, Canaan was enjoying herself more than she'd expected; when he wasn't trolling or 'performing' in front of the committee turns out he was pleasant company. And even though it would be difficult to admit having a bit of camaraderie was nice, it still was. She never got lonely, persay…but she'd kept herself so aloof that this was an unexpectedly amiable interlude.

It didn't last long enough for either of them.

Looking over Lucifer's shoulder she saw a few other runners out to enjoy the morning; three muscle-bound men and a buxom bleach job who must have weapons-grade spandex in her matching neon teeny tank and tights. As she had, they slowed as they approached. One of the men called over to him,

"Hey, didn't we see you at Paradou last week?"

One of the other men chimed in, "Yeah, then we all went to The Bottle and Glass – you picked up that tab. Must've been heavy; feel free to do it again anytime! What craaaaazzzzyy night, man. You're an animal!" Cue tittering laughter from the girl.

Canaan twisted back a little smile. She'd been here barely a few short months and with her blistering schedule hadn't gotten out much. Didn't really want to. But even she knew how ridiculously expensive these places were. And who the hell decided applying full pancake makeup before exercise was a great idea? Quashing that (random?) thought she watched Lucifer-the-player interact with the group for a few minutes before they ran on, probably late for steroid and silicone appointments. As before, he'd slipped seamlessly from one affect to another. The chameleon…this relaxed conversational aspect she'd been enjoying was probably was just another facet he used as it suited him. She stood, brushing trail dust off her legs, suddenly aware of just how grimy she actually was.

"What are you doing?" He'd finally gotten those miscreants to leave. Finally. Now they could continue what had been one of the more pleasant spaces of time he'd had since…well, since quite a while. He noticed the alteration in her look. She wasn't angry; just evaluating him with amused derision.

"Well, this was my attempt to get some semblance of exercise sandwiched in between 16's. Time for me to clean up and get a quick nap before the next round starts. It's been interesting as always, Mr. Morningstar."

She thought he LIKED those fops! She might even think he WAS one! Unacceptable.

"It's 'Lucifer'."

"What?"

"'Lucifer'. Remember, Canaan?" Stressing his first name, and putting emphasis on hers to remind her they'd just been two enjoying a pleasant chat before the interruption. It might've worked, he wasn't sure.

She smiled agreement, a little guardedly.

Maybe it did work. He decided to push.

"Perhaps another time? Over a…"

She cut him off with a snort and dismissive wave of her hand. "That's okay. I don't think we run in the same circles."

"Well. You're certainly right about that. I don't run at all. Ghastly business." The look of disgust on his expressive face almost made her laugh aloud; he actually looked personally insulted by the thought. Maybe he lived in suits and ties, who knew? The effect was disarming and she responded to it.

"Yes, well, it's not my favorite either. I'm a swimmer not a runner, but haven't found a spot yet. Haven't had time." Pointedly looking at her watch.

"Dearie me, that's such an easy fix. Here. Give me your phone."

Canaan narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

He sighed, exasperated. "Because I'm going to steal your identity and put lecherous pics and messages on it." Thinking that last bit might actually be fun.

She kept the same appraising look.

He rolled his eyes and held his hand out. "You humorless git, I'm going to give you a contact for an acquaintance who owns one of the premier gyms in this little population cluster. Haven't seen it myself, but those who have say it's quite something. Pool there, open 24/7 for busy little bees such as yourself. Now, hand it over, there's a good girl."

Annoying patronizing, but strangely endearing at the same time.

"Don't have it on me."

He sighed again, looking put out. "Fine." He reached into his shirt pocket for his own phone. Tapping quickly he then stopped to look up at her. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Your number, darling…are you sure you've not gone daft from dehydration?"

"For what possible reason?"

He looked at her like she was nuts. "Do keep up, dear. I've just told him to expect a pretty little thing long on smarts – I think, present lapse considered - and short on charm sometime in the next few days. I assume you leave work at least on occasion. I need your number for him to confirm it's you upon arrival, and to send you the address."

Feeling slightly bamboozled from both his effort and description of her, Canaan relented and watched Lucifer tap away before replacing his phone in his pocket. 'I've just been number-closed…I think…' What a weird thought.

"Well then. Can't keep you, apparently. Enjoy the rest of your day, darling. See you at the next hospital session…if not sooner. You do seem to pop up where I least expect you."

On that she agreed. He was becoming one of those strange anomalies like a catchphrase or funny license plate…you never heard of it and suddenly once you did, it was often. She walked past his bench, pausing briefly to lay her hand over the front of his shoulder. "Thank you, Lucifer, for the kind gesture…seems never dull around you." Looking down at his lap. "Nice Dickens, by the way."

What in hell did he just hear her say?!

"Bleak House is an interesting read, and that's a beautiful copy. Hope you enjoy it."

And off she went, hoping tiredness and the looming long shift ahead would dampen her curiosity over this strange character enough to let her sleep.

He sat still, puzzling over the effect she had on him. He hadn't been flattering her; he did think she was intelligent and he'd enjoyed the refreshing candor of her company instead of the simpers he usually got. And yes, she wasn't all glitz and glamour as he was accustomed to, but subtly attractive with a surprising pull. 'Subtle' wasn't something he'd experienced a lot of. He'd have to think on that little mystery. He shifted in his seat. Well, no time like the present: he had to sit for a while yet anyway as her light touch he could still feel had not helped him 'calm down' at all. Perhaps that waiter was still on duty…maybe he'd go back for a light snack to take the edge off.


	6. Food for Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After this, the stage is set. Just in time to raise the curtain and make the characters realize they've been invited to a completely different play than they'd anticipated. This one's a little mopey: again, pulling in the props which will be needed later. Nothing too untoward within

"You do realize that this is beginning to border on complete and total ludicrousness. 'Running into someone' is supposed to be a figure of speech. I think we're taking it a bit far." She said this from flat on her back, blinking up at him through swirling cartoon stars and chirping birds.

"Quite."

Canaan and Lucifer had chosen the same corner overhang off the service entrance to the hospital to duck under and avoid the tempestuous mid-summer, mid-morning cloudburst. Racing in from opposite directions, she'd been nearly flattened upon impact and he had flung himself against the near wall rather ungracefully to avoid crushing her underfoot.

"Are you coming or going?" he asked, grabbing her bag and clasping her hand to help her up.

"I'm not sure. Ask me again when my head stops spinning." Rubbing the back of it gingerly.

"My sincere apologies…"

"For what? Bowling me over or implying my appearance is exactly the same before AND after long shifts in a hellhole?"

"I…er…well, at least no scalding fluids involved on this occasion." He mentally chided himself. He sounded a right idiot.

"Very true. Speaking of, I was going to go after some of those 'scalding fluids' so I wouldn't blearily crash my car on the way home – yes, leaving, not coming, thank goodness." She looked at the total deluge with sorrowful eyes. "But I doubt the street vendors are out in this mess. Oh well."

"What's wrong with inside?"

Canaan eyed him. "Spoken like a guy who's never paid seventeen bucks for murky swill and a hundred more for fake eggs. And gastric distress."

"Oh. Well. Over-dramatically pitiful indeed." He peeked out. "Looks to be brightening up over there…perhaps this'll pass soon." Suddenly turning on his charm and aiming a large smile her way he spoke as if he'd just discovered a cure for the common cold. "I know! I'll take you to breakfast. A small gesture for all the unintended violence. And then we'll see…What do you say, hmm?" He was irresistible, and knew it.

By her silence, apparently she didn't.

"What? You just said you're simply going home, correct? Why not a little fuel for the road?"

She didn't even look up at him. He was perplexed, and a little annoyed. He started to say as much when she spoke in a flat tone.

"Weren't you going somewhere? In enough of a rush to mow down unsuspecting pedestrians?"

"Nowhere of consequence." He thought it no concern of Canaan's that he'd had (yet another) argument with Maze, had stormed out of his office for a walk to clear his head and blundered right into a burgeoning rainstorm. Damned if he was going to run back inside like a wet, whipped cur; particularly since his demon had shouted after him that a good soaking would cool his head enough to start making sense. She'd been quite uppity of late. Leniency for growing pains was one thing but this…ugh. Amenadiel was little help, whipped as he seemed. Perhaps he'd have to rethink the whole process she was undergoing as it was becoming quite tedious.

At that moment, another few people rushed under the limited shelter of the overhang, chattering and brushing off their clothes. He turned to get his answers from Canaan, but found she'd practically disappeared in plain sight: on the other side of the group of people, flat against the wall and feigning interest in a book. Deliberately ignoring both the looks he was getting from the two women and one man in the group AND the one Lucifer was giving her. Well. Of all the….

Soon enough the little summer deluge passed. As the last drops fell to meet the steam rising from the hot pavement, the others departed, leaving only a few backwards glances and Lucifer watching Canaan as she stuck her book in her bag and made to head out. He caught her arm.

"Wait."

She shook him off.

"What's wrong with you?"

He had valid reason to ask. In the past few weeks, Lucifer had taken mild advantage of knowing her contact information. In a very benign manner, for him…he'd simply responded to her initial 'thank you, but what the heck?' text regarding the appointment he'd set up for the gym. Alfonse had owed him a favor; several actually. Giving 'a friend' of Lucifer's free membership was something the owner was more than happy to do to keep his powerful acquaintance in his good graces. Canaan's initial protests had been stonewalled by both men, and Lucifer failed to understand the issue since it wasn't costing anyone anything, and said as much. She still felt vaguely uneasy about it, and that made responding (or not) to Lucifer's more frequent unrelated (and not entirely unpleasant) check-ins initially difficult for her to deal with. But, he'd been wearing her down. Written communication, rather than in-person contact had an element of unreality to it…and she'd found herself eventually enjoying it; actually chuckling over his self-proclaimed role as her 'new imaginary conversationalist friend'. He was witty, humorous and they actually did have some similar interests: literature and the direction of the work project not the only ones. For his part, since Maze and therefore Amenadiel had been continuing to act in a circumspect manner, he'd been left to his own devices more often. He still went lasciviously poaching as it suited him, but had found a surprising bit of personal satisfaction in written exchanges…even if he'd hadn't otherwise seen Canaan or heard her voice. Other than feeling guilty about knocking into her, he'd been pleasantly surprised to see her this morning and did not understand why she appeared to feel differently. Vehemently so, as evidenced by the stormy expression on her face rivaling the departing squall and scouring tone in her voice.

"You know what else is an overrated cliché? 'Presumed unresolved tension'. The 'will they won't they'. Done to death, dullsville."

Well, on this they agreed! And long overdue by his estimation. Smiling even more broadly, his bright and happy tone was back as he lit up his voice at her. "Wonderful! I was hoping you'd eventually come around and lighten up enough to have a little fun. Come back to my place with me. You can get cleaned up while I fuss in the kitchen – I'm quite talented there, as you'll find I am in other areas - we'll eat….then we can both have some other appetites satisfied." He had to stop himself from literally rubbing his hands together. Unfortunately for him, he'd been looking up at the sky during his little soliloquy, instead of watching the incredulous expression bloom over her face.

"You. Are. Incredible."

Right words, wrong inflection. He looked down over at her, confused.

"I am, darling, but usually I don't hear that until after. Sometimes during if there's not too much heavy breathing from the peanut gallery."

She shook her head and walked across the side street toward the parking garage. He was so dumbfounded by her reaction that she'd nearly made it halfway up the first flight of steps before he got a move on. Long legs taking the steps three at a time he caught up to her on the first landing.

"Canaan, what the bloody..?

She stepped quickly to the side away from him as two other people came down the steps between, looking at them quizzically before moving on down. Canaan shot him an angry glare after they'd passed.

Realization dawned, and he did not like it. Not one bit.

"You don't want to be seen with me…is that it then?" How was that humanly possible?

"Yes and no."

"Well, what kind of idiotic nonsense is that?"

"Lucifer, I don't want to be seen, period. And I don't want to 'seen with' anyone. And I really don't want to be seen with someone as 'obvious' as you are. Not faulting your lifestyle...just not my type."

He was tempted to react on the superficial level: she had to be kidding. He was 'everyone's' type. But something in her voice and the way she refused to look at him as she kept stalking to her car gave him pause.

Witnessing Lucifer go still as he watched her walk away for a second time started the conversation between those in observation. Hidden, Maze nudged Amenadiel. "That should do it. He doesn't deal with rejection well. Never did, of course, but especially after last time…" She stopped talking, annoyed at Mena's hand on her arm.

"Think so?" She followed his line of sight and scowled. Lucifer was indeed walking quickly toward where Canaan had stopped beside a vehicle, tossing her bag in the back and turning; crossing her arms in irritation as he leaned a hand on her front door, effectively holding it shut.

"I beg your pardon, darling…but what exactly seems to be the trouble here?"

Canaan narrowed her eyes further, glaring, before giving up, closing them entirely and turning to let her shoulders fall against the car with a dull whump. She was the trouble. That and her confusion.

"It's been a really long night. I'm tired, I'm un-caffeinated and this possible concussion is making me crankier. I just want to go home, so if you'd please move..."

She had fallen hard, and he felt badly about his part in that. He reached out a hand to touch the back of her neck where she'd rubbed it earlier and had barely grazed her when she reacted. Eyes flicking wide open, near arm sweeping his down and away.

"Don't touch me!"

He froze.

"Well well…" Mazikeen looked over at Amenadiel. "And what do we think of this?"

"I don't know." The angel's deep voice was somber, looking at his brother. "I expect we'll find out soon enough."

Lucifer backed a few steps away, holding both hands palms out. Just looking at her and not speaking. Her reaction spoke volumes. Problem was, he wasn't fluent in the language and knew it.

Canaan sighed, closing her eyes again and pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, I'm sorry. I overreacted. Like I said: headache…long night…" She gritted her teeth. Horribly brutal night actually; had to hold her team together, no one to talk to about it because the closest thing she had to a friend here was this oddity in front of her, and let's just ignore the fact that he was part of what was bothering her. Simply by existing, though by no fault of his own. Yeah…and that wouldn't sound at all psychotic to say to a man she really didn't know. So why did she feel as if she sort of did?

'You know you're a little strung out when you don't even make sense to yourself,' she thought.

"Well," he said softly, lowering his hands. "…still sounds like something that a friendly chat over decent breakfast could help with. Nothing untoward, mind, though I have it in good confidence you're missing out. Just a trounced woman and her imaginary friend in some hidden nook."

The words, expression and delivery made her snort. Which made her head hurt worse.

"Ow. Fine. You win." She was starving, desperately needed coffee and painkillers on an empty stomach were a recipe for nausea. "Where to? And nothing shady, 'mind'."

The mimic of his accent made him grin. "But of course…shall I drive? No?" (looking at her lowering brows) "Well then, in you go, now." He held open her door, closed her in and went around to get in the passenger side. As they departed the garage Amenadiel observed Maze's glower.

"So you see what I'm talking about. Showing restraint, tenacity, and even curtailing some other proclivities. And with what I've told you of her history, you still don't think this is going to be a problem?" Her voice was scathing.

"Maze, a person's past doesn't mean their future will trend the same way…you should probably be a good one to realize that…" His attempt to soothe fell on deaf ears.

She held herself back from him, a cold stare marring her beautiful features. "And sometimes past experience is all you can fall back on when the future challenges. I for one don't feel like picking up the pieces of his failed experiments. Again. You're overly optimistic – about everything, warranted or otherwise – and he's obtuse. Both foolish. Perhaps I'm not the only one in need of an education." With that, she disappeared, leaving Amenadiel behind to shake his head. One step forward, half a step back and three others to the side…an angel and demon dancing on the head of a shrinking pin.

The 'hidden nook' Lucifer directed her to turned out to be exactly that. A quiet block not far away, an unobtrusive brownstone front with a single counter within and a small door leading out to a few tables overlooking an enclosed back garden. It was a gap time of day, well past the morning rush and too early for lunch so it was quiet other than the staff and them. Lucifer asked for tea, a fruit plate and scones, and as Canaan spoke after perusing her options his eyebrows went one way and jaw another.

"So…the three-egg omelet with tomato, spinach and feta looks great, side of bacon – double, actually - wheat toast, potatoes, COFFEE and tomato juice. Water with lemon. Please." She observed his look as they went outside to sit down and wait.

"What?"

"Did you invite several friends I wasn't aware of?"

"Oh stuff it. You try being on your feet for over fourteen hours with only a brief break for vending-machine jellybeans."

He shuddered. "That's a horrid thought."

"It was a horrid night. Stale jellybeans the least of it. Wow, thank you – that looks fantastic - albeit a little lopsided." She smiled at the wizened owners as the woman gave Lucifer his two small plates and teapot and she got a sideboard pulled up to the tiny café table. The man put his hand on her shoulder, making an appreciative remark about women with healthy appetites; managing to look a bit askance at her companion's meager fare.

As they were left in peace Lucifer made an offhand remark about hellish toil and his experience with that.

"I didn't realize being a philanthropist was so dangerous and taxing…"

He smiled, but as she'd seen briefly before, his eyes did not match the rest of his expression. "Well, I wasn't created as one, darling. No one is."

"Ah. Silver spoon inserted after birth?"

"Silver tongue for this devilish chap, actually." Spoken through that smirk she was becoming more familiar with…but again with veils on his eyes.

Canaan paused to shake out a few pain pills and chase them with half a glass of water, eyeing her tablemate who showed sudden intense interest in buttering his scone. It would be hard for her to explain, but it was these small glimpses of….something else…that made him feel familiar. As if he had secrets behind his facade, too.

The rest of their conversation was more light-hearted on both sides. Canaan was feeling much better with food and medication on board, and she'd be lying to herself if having Lucifer's banter to play off wasn't a big part of her adjustment in attitude as well. After the broad breach of overstepped personal boundaries back in the rainy street, he'd been completely respectful. For his part, this was something he was willing to deal with. Sex was something easy to obtain nearly anywhere. Having this…whatever this was…was more rare and if she had weird hang-ups well, that wasn't his concern. Although he did have one final thought on that front…

"Do you not find me attractive? Are you a lesbian?"

She nearly choked on her tomato juice. Spluttered at him.

"I turn you down, and so I must be gay. Wow. You are cocky, aren't you? And shut up, I know I just said something stupid." That last remark was directed to the cheerful leer she saw across the table.

"I'm simply asking…"

"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not. And what if I was? Are you a bigot?"

"Certainly not. I'm quite open-minded. Can't understand why more of you aren't…why close yourself off to all the options out there?"

"People have their reasons."

"I'm sure you do. I wonder if they're as good as you think they are?" With that remark he finished his tea, raising his eyebrows at her over the rim of his cup.

Well then.

She was suddenly unable to hold back a tremendous yawn she barely hid behind both hands. Lucifer informing her this was a bed and breakfast as well made her realize how tired she must look in addition to feeling wrung-out. To his credit, he made no vulgar mention of them going upstairs here, his place, or other off-handedly personal remarks. It was as if he had a dysfunctional filter, rather than being deliberately offensive. Perhaps the upbringing and background he was reluctant to discuss had more to do with his current lifestyle and affect than he'd let on. Despite this being his idea, Canaan insisted on picking up the tab as the bare minimum reciprocation of the gym favor (which he once again vehemently downplayed, but seemed quite pleased when informed yes, she loved being able to swim again, thank you).

As they walked back to her car, she heard, "I'll get it next time, then." from above her head.

"Next time?" She stopped abruptly in the middle of the flower-edged slate path.

"Why yes. 'Next time'. Are we not friends now? Is this not what friends do?" He actually seemed mildly perplexed about the definition and his understanding of it. "We get on, have things in common, resolve dissention…there's apparently not to be any sex, so it must a friendship…although you don't wish to be seen with me…and never did answer my other question."

"Which was?"

"Do you not find me attractive?" He actually looked a bit little-boy-lost here. Strange.

She looked square at him. "I am not feeding a narcissist."

He rolled those expressive eyes. "No. I am, I know. I mean, objectively so. I asked what you thought…"

She shook her head at him, perplexed grin. 'Wow, you are one of a kind."

"Yes, I know. That's the trouble." The words themselves would be obnoxious, if the tone hadn't been so melancholy.

She looked up at him. Looked closely. Actual confusion and concern played over those fine features. Of course he was attractive. He was beautiful. Not just because of what he looked like…he was trying to do good things on a large scale. And on small ones too, if his actions with her this morning were indicative of other parts of his life. He was smart, funny…all good 'friend' qualities. And so what if he was a bit quirked? She was as well. And had her good reasons. Maybe he did too. He was still giving her a strange look, and suddenly didn't seem so polished. Maybe she could do this. Just this.

Acting uncharacteristically affectionate, she reached up to hug him, feeling him startle a bit before returning it awkwardly. She let him go quickly, smiling at the incongruity of a person being able to dive into any bed at a moment's notice but being stymied by a simple squeeze.

"You're lovely. Thanks for breakfast – it was a good idea. Sure you don't need a ride someplace?"

"No. And….thank you."

He watched her leave. Pushing his hands in his pockets he stood still for a few moments, rocking back on his heels and thinking. Smiling a little. He turned and strode back the way they'd come, unaware that he was being watched by two older sets of eyes from the café window. Eyes that had only seen him come in alone here. Eyes that looked at each other with the communicative smile that only comes from long companionship.

And another set. Richly golden. Rich in amusement.

"Dear brother, I think Maze might be right. You are in trouble. As I am. Heaven help the both of us."


	7. Character Assassination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Foul language, some physical violence, sexual violence implied, but not described. As before, any songs used; partial or otherwise are credited in the body of the text.

"That's the sort of crap night that's enough to make people change careers." The tired voice speaking was met with murmurs of agreement from the others. Six people dressed in blue scrubs decorated with the raiment of turmoil were collapsed on the cracked faux-leather chairs in the trauma lounge.

"We should go out. We deserve it." Same voice.

"Eww. Like this? I feel like I need to bathe in lye."

"You probably do anyway, Blake. How the hell else would you sponge off the shit-ton of eye makeup you wear?" Tired laughter.

"Shut up, asshole!" The younger blonde threw an empty cup at him as Ben laughed, ducking. "We're not all married and dead inside."

"Stop. Enough." Canaan walked into the room with the new trauma resident beside her. "You all did an amazing job last night. Tomorrow's the last day on this rotation schedule, so if you want, I'll buy us lunch before or something."

"No, we don't have call or a schedule for 36 hours after 11P tomorrow – let's just go out after. Like "out" out. It's a Friday for chrissakes'. Seriously. It would be fun to just relax away from this dump."

Canaan hedged. Socializing with work people (socializing in general, actually) wasn't high on her list of interests.

"C'mon…you have to go – you're paying!"

Rolling her eyes at the resident beside her (yet another hotshot newb doc who hadn't learned to be a person yet) she said, "Fine. As long as it's not something completely stupid. Talking to you, Blake – no top 40 karaoke hellholes, thanks."

"There's supposed to be a new piano bar opening in the spot where Mickey's used to be….what about that? And it's right around the corner."

"Man, that spot is cursed; everything that opens there is gone in a matter of weeks it seems."

"OooOOOooh…spooky!" Finger waggling and scary noises from the three younger ones to Ernie's comment.

Faye rolled her eyes. "Now, now children. That actually sounds like fun. We can babysit the idiots for a bit..." smiling indulgently at the younger members of the team "…and still be able to get decent alcohol for us 'more experienced' folks."

"Speak for yourself, crone. Not all of us were old enough to remember when this place was built from sticks and mortar."

As the older nurse threw a half-hearted swing at the CRNA's head, Canaan smiled to herself, evaluating them. They were a good team, a blend of younger energy and wiser experience. At forty, she and Ernie the CRNA were right in the middle, Faye at sixty-three had more drive and vibe than most a third her age. The surgical techs, Ben and Shep were the young marrieds, in love with love (though they'd die of embarrassment before telling their wives all the sappy stories they waxed on about over long cases). Blake was the baby, fresh out of nursing school and had only started here a few weeks before Canaan had. Dale was the trauma surgeon, younger but smart AND kind…not traits always seen together in a place like this. Saul was their new resident, still learning how to fit in. So far, no one was really thrilled with his dickish machismo, but nationwide every July, like clockwork, new residents rolled out of the medical machine and most people gave them at least a few weeks to try to settle themselves. If after that the fit wasn't good…well…most wound up elsewhere. In an environment such as this, where lives depended on the relationships and interdisciplinary skill of the trauma staff, thorns weren't long tolerated. Their team of medical, nursing and tech was one of several here, she respected them, and Canaan was willing to step out of her comfort zone to keep them happy.

"Piano bar it is then. And yes, my treat." Using her 'shut up' hands to quell the cheers from the young and broke. "Get some decent sleep today and pray for a decent evening tomorrow. And guys, tell your wives to meet us there after; I'll make sure Dr. Bohner and his team are in on time to relieve us no matter what's going on." She deliberately ignored a few sniggers from Blake. The older surgeon might try to needle her and was scared of Faye since she remembered him as a wet-behind-the-ears resident, but he tortured Blake simply because she was young and female. Remembering her own trials in nursing and practitioner school, Canaan felt obliged to protect talent regardless of age or gender, as she'd been protected elsewhere. Some things were hard enough without stupidity to compound it, and trauma was certainly that.

"So, can we un-chained bring dates?"

Speaking over the underhand comment 'you might have more dates if you used chains' from Saul to Blake she said, "Sure…why not. See you guys tomorrow – go get some sleep." With that, Canaan walked out to change and hit the gym before going home. It was after nights like this one that she really appreciated the pool, and smiled a little at the thought of the one who had made that possible. She hadn't seen him since breakfast a few weeks ago as she and her departmental partner alternated meeting attendance, but she and her 'imaginary friend' been regularly texting and emailing. It was sort of…fun…to have a secret, pleasant diversion to round out the harshness here and the solitary nature of the rest of her life.

Saul watched her leave, eyes on the back of her scrubs. "Man, love to tap that. She's pretty hot in that 'quiet librarian' kinda way – make a great cougar for a rough and ready dude like me…OUCH!" he rubbed the back of his head where Faye had hit him, hard.

"Hey 'dude', shut your trap before everyone knows you're as stupid a person as you are a doctor."

He looked around. Silence as everyone just eyed him. The ribbings they gave one another bordered on malicious but was all in fun. Like any other team, they were protective of their own, and their subtler NP was an appreciated member.

"Whatever, gotta go." Saul took off, ego barely dented.

"He's a dick." Murmurs of agreement from the rest to Blake's statement.

"He is. But maybe he'll learn. It's still early in his rotation here."

"Dale, you're a fucking saint. We should just clone more of you."

"Yes, you should. I'm faaaaahhhhbulouus." With a smile and fake sassy wiggle he left as well, leaving Blake to sigh after him.

"Oh honey, save that look. You have a much chance with him as that young jerk does with Raene." Faye pitied the look on her younger colleague's face.

"Oh, I know. But he's so cute, and smart and…"

"Gay." Chimed in everyone else.

'Shut up! I know! Maybe he has a brother or something…"

"Dream on, little girl." Ernie extended a calloused hand to pull her up. "C'mon. It's going to take you until the next shift to peel all that makeup off. You're Asian. How can you even see through all that mascara?" Laughing as she hit him before enclosing her in a strong side-hug as they headed off.

"Come on, kiddies. School day tomorrow. Let's go." Faye herded up Ben and Shep, linking arms with them. "Escort a weak old lady to her car."

"You're 'weak' like Dale is straight. You've probably got some booty call on the way home."

"What makes you think it's just one?" she purred, fluttering her eyelashes at Shep.

"Damn, woman."

"I'm like a fine wine, boy…better with age."

"Or skunked and moldy under the cork – OW! Watch it, ya old wench! Me and the missus are trying for kids!" Laughter from the three as her punch landed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

11:37P the following evening found the team and their social periphery sitting in the new lounge of 'The Keys' with two sticky tables shoved together. Place had only been open a week, yet already had that comfortable dive-bar feel. It had been a decent work night for a change, and after the first obligatory round of shots Canaan nursed a coffee, smiling. It actually was nice to see everyone in civvies, enjoying each other. If only Saul wasn't so close in on her left, making what he probably thought were alluring remarks about her collared loose green dress and low-heeled sable thigh-high boots. In her outfit, and hair pulled back in a twisted ponytail she actually did feel decently feminine for a change. Some obnoxious horny child was not what she'd consider bothering with, if so inclined. And she wasn't.

Ignoring the yammer in her ear by turning to Faye and Ernie on her other side, she asked, "So this was your idea, E. How does this place work?" When they'd arrived, a DJ in a corner had been playing music for a few people lunging around the space in the middle of the floor and there was indeed a piano under a spotlight at the far center. It had been empty since they'd arrived ten minutes ago, and no signs of any activity.

"Let's find out!" Dale grabbed a flashy redhead walking by in what appeared to be the standard uniform of 'Finger My Keys' T-shirts and tight jeans worn by staff of both genders. Despite leaning in, the music was loud enough to drown out the conversation across the table. Turning back, grin flashing, he said, "You just sign up on a list! I'm gonna go over." He left quickly, taking his drink, Blake not the only one watching him walk over as a few from nearby tables turned.

"He plays. Of course he does. Bet he's got great hand control…"

Laughing, Faye closed her own over the younger nurse's fingers. "You know he does honey – you've seen him in surgery. And unless you've suddenly sprouted a penis, I think you'd better change your trajectory."

"Maybe he's bi? That could work."

Chuckle from Ernie. "I don't think so, 'Tammy Faye'. Look."

Across the room Dale had stopped to chat with a gorgeous blond. With a crewcut and shoulders of a linebacker. "Oh well…"

"Here, have another shot to drown those sorrows – another round for everyone! C'mon…you too." Saul elbowed Canaan a bit roughly. He'd been sucking down drinks as fast as he was blurting out stupid remarks. She appraised him coolly. "I'm good, thanks. Got a bit of a drive later. You better be careful too and slow down, Slick. We're all adults here. You're a big boy and no one wants to take care of a sloppy drunk."

"I am a 'big boy'. Maybe I'll let you find out." Turning her back on him in irritation, Canaan was just about to move away when Dale came back AND the lights lowered further in the room. Looking over at the DJ as the music went silent, Dale used the unexpected calm to fill them in. "I'm third." Looking over at Canaan rising half off her stool. "Oh no you don't, missy. I know you're gonna try to duck out early, but you'll at least stay until you hear me, right?"

Canaan sighed. "Right.". Saul smirked and tried to slip an arm around her waist which she blocked with a low hiss.

Across the room, one of the staff introduced a tall, austere-looking woman in a plain black sheath dress.

"What the hell? This ain't the symphonic. Don't want to hear no fancy-schmancy tonight!"

"Shut UP, asshole!" The chorus, not just from their table, cowed Saul into a sullen pout. Canaan hoped it would last for the rest of the night – the resident was way more intolerable with alcohol on board. The room erupted in cheers as the woman's hands crashed into the piano with the strong chords of AC/DC's 'Thunderstruck'. She followed it with 'Who Made Who' and 'Hells Bells'. She rose from the piano just as silently as she'd sat down, but now with a big smile on her face as she took in the cheering crowd. She'd never sang, but didn't need to – the room had filled the space over her bold sound with enthusiastic, if not pitch-perfect notes of their own.

"Excellent start! Dale, for your sake, I hope you don't suck."

"Oh I do, and never a complaint…not that you'll ever be lucky enough to find out, Ernie." Laughter all around the table.

Laughing herself, Canaan turned sharply as she heard, "Well, what an introduction. Thanks, darling. Might switch it up a bit, though." In a very familiar accent. She brushed Saul's pawing hand off her arm as she watched Mr. Lucifer Morningstar, philanthropist-turned-performer of a completely different ilk sit down at the piano bench. Jeez, even in a dive the man looked like he'd stepped out of a GQ shoot in his buttoned vest, dark shirt and pants. The lights being set up as they were, he couldn't have seen her being this far back, she but felt a little twist, nonetheless. Probably just the combo of whisky and strong coffee on an empty stomach. Aware that she might be fooling herself she decided to ignore it and just listen. He pulled a mike toward him, eyes narrowing. She had no idea he could play, much less sing: he'd never mentioned. This might be interesting.

Oh he'd seen her all right.

And seen that filthy brat swatting at her as well.

It took her the lead in and a few lines to recognize 'Song for Someone' by U2. And no, she'd already established that he (couldn't possibly, no way…) be looking at her, but that low spin in her stomach begged to differ.

"…I've got some scars from where I've been

You've got eyes that can see right through me…"

Chills. Probably not from the toxic combo of alcohol and caffeine. And certainly not from the absolute jerk beside her who was still (STILL) trying to lean in and talk to her despite Canaan shouldering him off and trying to shush him.

"If there is a dark, we shouldn't doubt 

and there is a light, don't let it go out…"

Lucifer saw clearly what was going on, annoyed resolve pooling under the center of his vest. Strange feeling. Stranger words, seeming oddly to fit it.

"You let me into a conversation

A conversation only we could make

You're breaking into my imagination

Whatever's in there is yours to take…" 

Torn between fascination and glower as he played, watching. That boy….that boy fondling at her arm. Why did it matter? The errant child was clearly no threat to her here. Certainly not for him. Or 'them'. They were mere friends: she'd made that crystal clear. Still…

"…you were so long to heal…"

Ah. Maybe that's what the warning bells were for. The way she'd reacted to him in the garage when he'd tried to touch her, surprising her when her eyes were shut. The same sense of familiarity Canaan had for him regarding keeping secrets he now shared. Hidden pain. They might have this in common. And strange, strange, the words still fit. He heard them differently now, musing as he sang. This wasn't his intended selection; it had simply popped in his head as his hands covered the keys.

"If there is a dark, within and without

And there is a light – don't let it go out."

Looking right at her.

"And I'm a long way from your hill or cavalry

And I'm a long way…from where I was; where I need to be."

Steadily.

Despite the obvious annoyance beside her, he knew he had her full attention. Good. He didn't know why, but it pleased him. What did NOT please him was that degenerate, being handled by Canaan or not. He finished his song to expected applause, deciding not to do any others as he saw Canaan be more forceful in shoving the child off before turning to speak to someone on her other side. Lucifer strode to the shadows outside the light on the piano, stalking up behind their tables. Hearing her voice.

"Faye, please give my apologies to Dale. I'm going to go. This is getting a bit out of hand here."

"Aww, you sure?"

"Most positively. I've had enough." She shrugged Saul off again, reaching into her wallet for a few bills, laying them in front of her. "This should cover what we've had, and some more fun, okay?"

"Naw….I got thish…I'll cover it…and you." Saul clamped a strong hand on her wrist, squeezing.

She decided she'd been polite enough for long enough.

"Hey! LITTLE MAN. Power DOWN, before you really find yourself in a world of hurt."

"Don' call me 'little' anything…bitch. M' not done with you yet." Slurring his words, but his eyes turning menacing. His grip twisting harder. Ernie from Faye's other side and Ben and Shep from Saul's began to stand up and move closer. Faster than all of them, a third hand came down on the table, long elegant fingers painfully digging into the resident's forearm. The strength of the grip a complete 180 from the soft threat of the voice.

"Oh no, my good man. I think you're quite finished. Apologize to the nice people for being cranky out way past your bedtime. Then go. While you're able to do so under your own power." The last words were spoken so quietly only Saul could hear them. And only Saul could see the eyes that glittered crimson as Lucifer leaned in close. Gibbering, he pushed away from the table, bumping into some other annoyed patrons on the way out. A few cheers from their table and the ones around it rose up at his departure.

"What a total prick. You okay honey?" Faye made to lay her hand over where Saul had grappled Canaan's wrist, but once again, someone was too fast. Lucifer picked up her hand, stroking her skin.

"You're fine, are you not?"

"I am, thanks. Kid's just a jerk, drunk or not. I had no idea you could play! And sing. A man of many talents."

"Indeed. Impeccable timing being one of them, apparently."

Around the table, quick introductions for 'the committee guy' were made, as Lucifer occupied the vacant seat. Everyone took in both Dale's performance and the fact that Blake had someone new to moon over. Someone dark haired and sitting right across from her. After her friend's two songs were over, Canaan stood to excuse herself.

"So soon?" Standing, she was exactly eye-to-eye with Lucifer seated. Those same eyes that had been looking at her while he played. The same slow twirl in her belly, amped up with closer proximity and the edgy fending she'd had to do.

"Yep. Afraid so."

Not soon enough. It was the end of a long day, she'd just been through something annoying and was already mentally exhausted at thinking of how she could get that ignorant jerk off their service and somewhere the hell else as quickly as possible. She deliberately chose to ignore the most perplexing; Lucifer sitting beside her, making amiable small talk with her team and letting his leg just brush against hers under the table. Faye's had been doing the same thing on her other side: they were squeezed in like sardines. Why did she notice his so? They were friends. Just friends. Just.

Not wanting an answer to that (yet?ever?), she made to go, actually a bit relieved when Faye said she was ready as well. Saying their goodbyes, the two women headed back around the corner toward the hospital and garage. They'd barely turned to climb the stairs when from behind them, a drunken snarl.

"Well. If it isn't the frigid bitch and a slutty old bat. Teach you to laugh at me…"

Coming from the darkness under the stairwell, Saul grabbed onto Canaan's ponytail, twisting the end of it around his hand, pulling her off balance against him. Making her gasp in pain and surprise.

"Yeah, you like that, huh? Knew you would. I'll ride your ass AND pull your hair. Get off me you old cow!" Canaan saw Faye fall to the ground as he shoved her back. The slow burn of irritation she'd felt all night flared to sudden, incandescent fury.

She spun to him, feeling his grip on her hair tighten, ignoring the sting. Behind her, she could hear Faye whimper. Canaan barked at her. "Get your phone. Call security right now!"

She could smell more than hear Saul's curse at her face as he leaned his rancid mouth toward hers. Taking the opportunity of distraction she drove a knee into his groin and two knuckles into the notch of his throat, his breath worse as he choked. Strength of anger and alcohol kept his grip and stance strong. With his other hand, he grabbed at the high collar of her dress, twisting the material. Becoming desperate with her wind cut off, she ran her boot over the front of his shin. She was grateful to hear Saul's reaction of pain and Faye's voice on her phone – at least someone knew they were out here - but the edges of her vision were beginning to haze and darken.

Security was on their way across the street now, but 'someone' was already here.

Lucifer had followed them from a distance, feeling uneasy about the boy he'd scolded and scared. Seeing Canaan being lifted off her feet, throttled and still fighting made him move with preternatural quickness. She was still conscious, but going limp and fuzzy when she felt someone behind her.

Did Faye stand up?

No, she could hear her voice from the ground, yelling "Bottom floor, parking garage! B entrance! Right fucking now!"

Who else was here?

She felt a strong arm go around her waist and the small conscious part of her remaining was grateful for the support. With the amount of adrenaline and energy expenditure she wouldn't be standing long with her wind cut. She felt a huge thrash, heard a sickly hollow thud then was pulled to the ground.

Blessed, blessed air. She alternated between coughs and gasps, drinking it in like the priceless elixir it was. After a few deep breaths she got her bearings. Loud voices, all around her. Faye being helped off the ground. Saul down in front of her, his hand still tangled in the ends of her hair. The familiar voices of night security. But they had black uniforms. The bent knees beside hers were clad in subtle navy blue pinstripes. They looked far too expensive to be kneeling in the city dirt next to her boots. A quiet voice in her ear.

"You still fine, darling?"

That accent.

"Almost."

That chuckle.

Canaan tugged at her hair, trying to loosen it from the sweaty paw it was wrapped through.

"Faye!"

"Yes honey, oh god, you okay?"

"I will be. Hope you are. Give me your trauma shears." Knowing the old nurse always carried some in her purse.

She felt the woman slap them into her outstretched palm with the same professional snap she delivered her surgical instruments. Running her hand down her ponytail as far as she could, Canaan hacked her hair, freeing herself from the unconscious pile in front of her. She could not be restrained for one more second. Not one.

"Oh honey…"

"No worries, Faye. Been overdue for a trim." She rose on her knees, still feeling unsteady. Her hair was so long that even with a few inches gone it still fell well past the bottom of her shoulderblades. She pulled it back and knotted it in a tight bun. Lucifer, silent beside her, cupped her elbows gently to rise with her. Holding her around the waist as her legs were still trembling from adrenaline's rush.

She recognized that feeling of security.

'What did you do?'

"I introduced this foul miscreant's head to this welcoming cement pillar behind him. Rather abruptly."

She turned to look up at him. His voice was light, but his jaw clenched and eyes dark.

"Thank you, friend."

He looked down to smile at her, but it was strained. Hers probably was as well.

After medical checks had been performed and statements taken at the police station Canaan and Faye were free to go. Assured she was all right and just wanted to go home, Lucifer saw her off. He had plans of his own anyway.

Stepping outside the station doors, he called Maze.

"What do you want at this hour?"

"Hello to you, sweet Mazie. I want Hell's favorite torturer to bring cash for bail money and meet me at this address. We're going to take a long, lovingly detailed trip down memory lane, you and I. I have new pal I'm just dying for you to meet."

The slow, avidly sick smile spreading over Mazikeen's face nearly turned Amenadiel's stomach as he looked at her.

"Where are you going?"

"With your brother. To do what we're best at. Don't wait up."


	8. Blue Oyster Cult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit sprawly because it unexpectedly leaped out of my head poolside on a golden summer afternoon. Since the last chapter was a bit trying for our folks a nice afternoon seemed appropriate as a transient reward. Mildly suggestive. A little melodramatic at one point (but our devil is, so 'pot/kettle').

"That looks like something I'd clean off the bottom of my shoe. With a stick."

"What a truly tasteless thing to say!" Laughing at her expression as she waved away his offer.

"Probably tasteless thing to eat. No, thanks. All you, sir."

"On the contrary, you've no idea what you're missing out on. Soft on the tongue…a little salty, savory tang…absolutely delicious." The wicked look he gave her as he sucked the juice, then the meat from the first oyster from the icy tray made her eyes roll reflexively. The next remark, "If you're lucky, you might find the lovely pearl waiting for you as well…" shot her eyebrows straight into her hairline.

"Lucifer. Try some tact, maybe."

"Canaan. I'm simply stating facts; you're the one with the naughty thoughts, hey?"

She shook her head, but smiled at him despite herself. Knowing her mind could run toward gutter sometimes. A little salt for seasoning. Her companion seemed to have the same streak – he just said everything out loud. And often. She poked her fork into the cracked crab in front of her with a little enthusiastic exasperation before dipping the meat in the liquid gold of the butter dish.

"Now that's an oddity on your plate. Honestly, it looks like a giant bug; who among you was the first to say 'well, it could probably nip my hands off; let's eat it'."

She chuckled. He was doing a lot to lighten the mood, even if his turns of phrase were slightly strange. She wiped her hands before picking up her iced tea, the crisp tartness of the lemon as refreshing to her palate as the chilled liquid was to her throat. She couldn't tell if the salt tang was strongest from the sea foaming far below their seats on the deck or her friend's platter. Squinting her eyes against a strong breeze from the ocean, it was hard to believe just over an hour ago she'd been mentally gearing up for a far different afternoon.

After the events in the wee hours of Saturday morning, she and Faye had been asked into Monday's disciplinary hearing scheduled by the hospital regarding medical license revocation for Saul Prendergast. She knew he'd been released on bail and wasn't sure if she was more afraid she'd rip his throat out before the proceedings or could manage to wait until after she knew he'd never practice medicine again. Strangely, he'd never showed, and despite calls and eventual summons there was no trace of him. He'd only been in town for barely two weeks, and other than those on his emergency contact list (also dead-ends) it was as if he'd simply vanished from the face of the earth.

She'd said as much to Faye when they left, both having been given the full day off for the now-defunct proceeding. Standing with the older nurse on the street corner they were discussing it when a gorgeous coupe convertible pulled up and a gorgeous accent floated from it.

"Good riddance, I'd say." The stern terseness on his face was a definitive mismatch for the light tone of his voice. After exchanging a few pleasantries with Faye, the older woman had declined Lucifer's offer of a late lunch, claiming stiffness from her tumble. Watching as she walked off, Canaan was reminded that the woman really was older than her affect, and she'd been lucky not to be more hurt. As herself, and it was largely due to the person smirking behind the wheel at her saying, "I know you've nothing else to do if you're not working – hop in. We'll go be incognito elsewhere. My turn to treat."

She certainly was grateful, and decided he deserved at the very least a little grace about from her about humoring him. She was surprised when they didn't duck into some nearby little niche, but instead turned east onto the highway. The wind streaming by the open car put a damper on much conversation, but Canaan found the bluster soothing. It was nice to have the disturbance outside her head to distract from all the noise inside it for the past few days. Soothed as well by occasional peeks to her left where Lucifer's eyes were narrowed against the wind and his only movements the occasional shifting of gears. Quiet power and strength in conservation there. Hard to believe he'd knocked a man unconscious for minutes with only a quick tap.

If Canaan had any idea what else he'd been recently capable of she may have found that even harder to believe. She'd been appreciative of the only contact from him via text this weekend being "Still fine, yes?" She'd just wanted to hole up by herself. "Yep, thanks" in assent was all she'd replied, and had been pleased that he somehow knew that A) she was, and B) to let her alone. She didn't know he wouldn't have had time for much else, anyway: being quite busy himself. Well. He and Maze.

He stole a few glances to observe her as well. Idle fingers sieving the wind, head tilted slightly back on the seat to drink in the clear summer sky. Hair tied back in a chignon with a few wind-loosened tendrils flying. The collar on the suit dress she wore almost high enough to hide the raw abrasions on her neck. His grip clenched momentarily tighter on the steering wheel: that worthless bit of sentience had probably wished they'd killed him. He'd certainly wanted to. She took that moment to look over at him, almost as if she could know what he'd been thinking.

She'd been about to ask him a question, but something in his face made her pause…she watched the expression disappear, and decided to holler over the wind anyway.

"Are you actually going to feed me, or should I just hop out and scour the side of the road for dead snacks?"

He chuckled, relaxing.

"Patience is a virtue darling."

"Not one of mine."

Nor his, and that actually did make him laugh aloud. Fairly resilient, this one. He wondered where and how she'd picked up that skill set.

"Five minutes. Look." Pointing at a sign indicating the end of the highway, and following the cloverleaf around to the less-populated north end of the little shore town. A trip of a mere few minutes landed them in the valet parking of a place rich in understated charm. The sort it cost a great deal of money to pull off to look like it didn't. She hedged a bit as they walked in, but was shushed into wry silence by his offhand remark of, "Well, for once you're not wearing a gore-splattered polyester blend. Take advantage of it, won't you?" So here they were, on a lovely summer seaside afternoon making fun of each other's menu choices.

"Dessert?"

"No thank you, I'm good. I'm fine to sit by if you'd like to indulge though."

"Macallan it is, then." Casting a quick glance toward the unobtrusively hovering staff. Smiling graciously as a small decanter and tumbler arrived almost instantly.

"Would you like a taste?"

She was never actually sure if his double entendres were intentional or not, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Wondering if that was a mistake when she saw the twinkle in his eye.

"It would probably be lost on me. I haven't the palate for rich discrimination."

"Oh, live a little. Lighten up. You don't strike me as someone who lets their hair down too often." He stopped himself with a quick wince; he'd meant to tease her, not bring up uncomfortable references.

"Yeah, wonder why? It doesn't seem to go well for me does it?"

He stared at her, horrified at himself.

She held his gaze stonily, then cracked a wide smile. "Now who needs to lighten up?"

He shook his head in chagrined amusement, offering his hands up in placation.

"I apologize."

"What for? I don't break easily. Besides, had it not been for your 'impeccable timing' things could have gone far worse for me a few days ago. And Faye." Canaan set her jaw, thinking again of how hard her coworker had been shoved. Grateful the older lady wasn't hurt badly. Grateful to this strange person who was rapidly becoming more than a stranger. Someone whom she was more comfortable interacting with in the abstract of writing, but found herself enjoying more and more in person. "I appreciate it. You. Thank you."

He wasn't sure if the sudden warmth he felt came from the scotch or her words. Fairly certain it was the latter. He coughed, suddenly nervous. He didn't get nervous, he reminded himself.

"You're certainly welcome. Sorry it had to happen at all."

"Me too. I hope wherever Saul is right now, somehow he is as well, but I doubt it. I'm concerned he didn't show up today: what if he tries that with someone else, Lucifer? Or worse, has already? It takes a while to grow a monster."

"It can. I think you needn't worry, though. These things have a way of working themselves out." Again, a dark flash over his face flickered before his tone altered. "Well? Shall we walk a bit?"

Canaan peered over the edge of the railing. "First step's a doozy."

"Such a child."

"Hardly. You've got what, a year, maybe two on me?"

"Think so, hey?" Yet another lighting-flash of enigmatic expression as he walked her past the outside tables, pausing briefly to speak with a staff person. As they left the deck and rounded a corner on the the jetty Canaan saw broad flat steps in series of stone tiers leading down to a little cove. Lucifer extended a hand but she shrugged him off, smiling, and slipped her low slingbacks from her feet. A surprise of bright blue polish flashed up at him and disappeared just as quickly as she took off racing down the steps like the child he'd called her.

Yes, resilient.

He walked down more slowly, watching as she ran along the waterline, stopping to let the cool surf foam over her ankles. Collecting the small basket just outside the interior door hidden at the bottom of the stone staircase. Removing his own footwear and rolling his cuffs a bit before trudging over to where she was sitting on a fat dune.

She eyed him, and his parcel. "What's that?"

"A little nibble and sip. It's a steep walk up if you were going to change your mind about dessert. Unpacking the small bottle of bubbly and container of strawberries.

"Um…this isn't a date, Lucifer…."

"Correct, Canaan. It is not. We're 'friends' as you've made abundantly clear. Besides, I don't, generally."

"So I've heard."

"Have you now? Well. I suppose I should be accustomed to people having their ideas about me, mistaken more often than not as they may be. A rather tiring truth."

She leaned back on her elbows, ankles crossed. Looking at his back as he sat somewhat stiffly, with both arms wrapped around one bent knee.

"So tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me. Tell me what you want me to know. I'm listening."

Bugger. He'd trapped himself. Hadn't expected that from her. From anyone, really.

He'd been here almost ten years. Ten years filled with waning play and indulgence. Ten years fraught with compounding heartbreak and strife. Ten years, five of which had been his choice, and the remaining in tasked confusion. He thought he'd known why his father had allowed him to stay – had actually been certain he did. But that situation had ended badly, at least not in anyone's death for a change. He'd left LA, changed coasts entirely. Been trying to seek a deeper meaning and feeling as if he was making little headway. Whether he was honest about himself with others or not; and he'd been both, by turns, he usually wasn't believed. Or worse, pushed away. Showing himself for proof? Usually a ticket to the nearest sanitarium for the human unlucky enough to see that aspect. For all their professed skill in imagination humans were remarkably small-minded when it came right down to it.

How many times could he being be rejected before it became too hard to take? After that first, most spectacularly horrific time, it had been a rather raw burden to bear.

If the very ones who created you first in all of existence then decided you were a mistake to be shunned, punished, slowly driven mad….well, what reasonable expectations could he have for this slight human with the ridiculous blue toes flopped out next to him?

Blue toes. Honestly. The things these creatures did to their bodies was ludicrous.

He snorted.

Canaan wasn't sure how to take the silence followed by what sounded like a snort. He didn't seem the type.

"Or not."

"What?" He'd gotten stuck inside his head.

"I said, 'or not'. It's okay. I didn't mean to pry. I know I don't like it." Perhaps he was more comfortable in their written exchanges as she was. Less 'immediacy' to it.

Sighing. "I appreciate the interest." He did. He just wasn't up to the effort of blowing her off adequately or laying himself open.

"And I'd appreciate a strawberry, too. Good call. So give." She nudged him with a blue-tipped foot.

Still looking out to sea, he smiled.


	9. To Sleep; Perchance to Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little sticky syrup for two and more backstory for Maze (more implied for future storyline than overtly discussed). Nothing untoward.

She watched him through the half-open door with coldly appraising amber eyes as she sat with arms outstretched on the back of the couch and ankles crossed on her extended legs.

"What is it, exactly, that you think you're doing?"

"It is, exactly, what it looks like. Getting dressed."

She huffed in irritation. "Don't be stupid."

"And you, my demon, don't demean yourself by asking questions to which you already know the answer." When she made to speak he cut her off, dire warning in his soft voice, "And don't for a second think you're going to continue in that tone, either. At least not in one piece."

She shut her jaw with a click that made her teeth hurt. Not again. He was not going to do this again. To either of them. Shut her out. Get in over his head. Make a terrible mess….

"Lucifer, don't you think…"

"Mind my words, Maze."

She sighed. "Please let me finish."

Silence from behind the door.

"Don't you think this little…sidebar…is a waste of time? Yours, certainly hers as well. Unless you've already told her? Which I doubt." The last sentence was sotto voce, afraid of provoking him.

Lucifer came to the doorway, closing his cuffs. "Told her what? That I'm fallen; damaged goods? That I'm allergic to tree nuts and imbeciles? That I'm an angel? The angel, rather. That I'm Lord of Hell currently on the most confounding sabbatical on behalf of a father who hasn't given me enough grace to tell me I'm moving in the right direction? Plural, at that. Really, Mazie...you ought to be more specific."

Maze stretched her hands out to him. "Here, let me." He continued his low-grade glower at her, but then relented, coming to sit beside her on the couch so she could fasten his cufflinks. She busied herself looking down at his wrists, not wanting to meet his penetrating gaze for her next qualms.

"I have concerns. As you should, considering."

"I seem to remember mentioning specificity. Rather recently. As well as warning against overstepping your bounds. Both of which still seem to be an issue. Which I find quite surprising, as I thought I was clear and you intelligent. I do hope for your sake things improve…" His tone was cold and dismissive…and it hurt.

Finished with her little task, she took the chance to drop her hands into his. "I just don't want anything…unnecessarily complex…to hinder you. In any way."

He squeezed them briefly, sardonically humoring her with the gesture and the following words. "Don't you fret your gorgeous head. It's simply a friendship. Quite kiddie-matinee rated compared to the one you're exploring…perhaps you're projecting your own issues onto me, hmmm?"

This was a sore spot, and he knew it. He also knew it was likely to shut her mouth effectively, and he was correct. Lucifer took advantage of her irritated silence.

"I've got to go – already late. Behave yourself this evening…" here he snickered, "…and do give my best regards to Amenadiel, won't you?"

Now her silence held anger, but she knew too well the foolishness of continuing this conversation when he was overly defensive. And the mere fact that he was she found all the more troubling. Maze watched Lucifer hook his light jacket over one shoulder with a single fingertip, and give her a false smile which did not meet his eyes. "Ta for now, my lovely. Have yourself an enjoyable evening however you choose to spend it. As if I couldn't guess. Be sure to clean up after; we angels can leave deplorable stains on good leather…"

With Maze silently fuming, Lucifer stalked out into the hallway and pressed the button on the elevator panel with more pressure than required for electronic summons. He tapped his toe impatiently…he was going to be late. Blast that Maze, her meddling and unjustified concerns as well. Trying to play shrink to replace the absence of Dr. Martin; almost laughable as finesse was never the demon's strong suit. During the smooth electronic glide from top floor to garage he mulled over that idea…perhaps a little chat with his past wasn't out of the question for his knotted thoughts here. Linda had certainly been entertaining and useful, on more than several occasions. As he drove the short distance towards the park he could already hear music carried on the summer evening air. Indeed a bit tardy, bloody hell. Lack of promptness could be construed by some as tantamount to lack of anticipation or interest, neither of which were true in his case.

He spied a face in profile over the back of the bench he was moving toward, and smiled despite himself. If he was going to be fair to Maze (and he petulantly did not wish to give either her or this trend of thought any credence), this was what she was concerned over. This involuntary action. This grin he knew was lit from the odd glow he was occasionally waylaid by. As now. He shrugged off all the repercussions and slowed his approach. Don't want to look too eager, now. Devils don't fawn.

Sure they don't.

"Pardon me, is this seat taken?" He rested his hands on the back of the park bench, and leaned in just a little, looking down.

"Apparently not. The person I was supposed to meet hasn't showed, so certainly, plunk away." From this angle the little smirk quirking her mouth and the cut of the light material draping her body looked like relaxed welcome. Nice after his trying day; Maze not the least of it. Glow now accompanied by small strange thump in his chest. Annoying little piffle: he mentally brushed it off, came around the bench and sat down. He started to ask her something, but Canaan placed a single finger against her mouth, indicating the orchestra playing in a small open-air amphitheater further down the hill. Their bench wasn't far from the first spot they'd met here, and like that one, set a little under the trees. Fireflies brought the stars down to hover over people on blankets on the slope and those closer in on risers. The evening sky was a deep plum trending toward indigo in the east, and the scent of monarda, evergreens and citronella torches hung in the air. It would be quite a romantic setting, if he was so inclined toward that sort of sentimental fluff. Which he wasn't. From the small pack she'd gestured to at her feet he pulled a carafe and poured himself a glass of something red, tucking into the bench corner to watch her watching the scene before them. Light music bled out into the night, settling over him like the fine material of her dress. He wanted to touch it, see if it was as soft as it looked. Chiding himself for the thought, he hid the curl of his lip in a sip from the glass. Maze would absolutely flay him if she knew, and in his irritation at that thought he huffed. Canaan, thinking he was being cantankerous because she'd shushed him, reached back and gave him a light rebuking slap across the top of his crossed knee without even looking.

Punishment.

He grinned.

Glorious.

A few pieces later brought intermission, and Lucifer took the opportunity to refill their glasses.

"So may I speak now?"

"You may." Smiling at him.

"My apologies for being late; I was unavoidably detained."

She waved the words off dismissively. "Don't be silly. Trust me, in my line of work being late or absent happens to schedules quite frequently. This was last-minute anyway; glad you could meet me, although I'm surprised you didn't already have plans."

"Fell through. This is an acceptable consolation prize, though." He knew he and Mazikeen needed to get some things hashed out instead of just barbing each other, but when Canaan's text had come through after the very uncomfortable dinner he'd shared with his demon he was more than happy to go elsewhere.

This was a good 'else', he thought, looking over at the woman rolling her eyes at him. She seemed to do that often. Perhaps she had a tic.

"I'm surprised you're not still in your vile cement box. Paroled for good behavior, were you?"

Canaan chuckled, "Yeah, something like. It's only Thursday and hit 72 hours already so was mandated off for 16. I'd heard about this concert and decided to check it out on the way home. Just glad I had something in my locker other than sweats." He silently agreed that the simple pale blue dress, while not what he would consider fancy, suited her. Her hair was twisted up and a few damp waves escaped the barrette, as if she'd rushed after showering off the gruesome day. He leaned in a little, scenting the same light citrus he'd noticed on the hospital rooftop.

"Where do you live anyway? Close by?" Lucifer was simply making conversation, but as he asked it dawned on him that he still really didn't know a lot of specifics about her. The woman was the antithesis of 'open book' regarding personal information.

"Around…" she watched him through narrowing eyes. Despite a precipitous lean towards the flamboyant, he wasn't exactly forthcoming either. And despite her genuine platonic enjoyment of him, there was still something…unresolved. An unnecessary complication to her mind, although the little belly twirl she noticed on occasion – such as now – did add a convoluted facet to this one closer friendship she'd made here. She doubted he even noticed her occasional appraisements, given his reputation.

He most certainly did notice. As now, but held off. There was something wary about her and he had no wish to press, or scare, particularly after the incident at the garage. Still, he considered himself well-deserving of a small reward for his good behavior.

"'Around' is it? Well, now you sound like me, shocking, really. And look how you've hidden us away under these trees. Ostentatiously 'not to be seen' but perhaps the lady doth protest too much, methinks." She snickered at him, then turned to the sound of the strings re-tuning as he leaned over to put their empty glasses back in the pack, and then sat back in the corner, arm extending over the back of the bench. "Come on then, get comfortable. I won't bite…unless you ask very, very nicely."

Muttering something about not being up on her rabies vaccines, Canaan did settle herself closer to his corner. He might talk a big game, but his overall behavior had proven trustworthy enough, certainly. As the music began again, it really was rather pleasant. The night was beautiful, the orchestra a lovely interlude after the hectic day and the wine and company had given her a languid ease. She closed her eyes to appreciate the music better, and before long the peace and exhaustion cumulated in the inevitability of sleep.

Lucifer had been enjoying some rare ease as well, and had been listening so closely was a bit startled to feel Canaan's head come to rest on his arm. He leaned over to peek; her eyes were closed, breathing slow and deep and her chin lodged at an awkward angle. She must trust him enough to let her guard down and the same little smile from earlier lit him up again. He supposed she and her crew were used to napping whenever and however they could catch a few blinks, but she was in his care right now and discomfort was unacceptable. He slid a little closer to her, and gently turned her head to rest on his shoulder. At least now she'd not wake up with a knotted neck. She settled against him with a long exhale. Yes, sound asleep.

"You're quite a boring date, you know."

With her head tucked under his chin the citrus scent of her hair was stronger. Lemon? Orange? Both? Something tangy.

"Terrible conversationalist as well."

This felt nice, her beside him. Even if she'd quite effectively tuned him out. However, for someone who liked certain attentions as he did, it was a bit piquing.

"Deplorable manners. No wonder you don't go out much."

She must be far gone. He wasn't loud, but not whispering either and Canaan didn't even twitch at his voice. He thought back to her question on the beach, and of his impulse to check in with Linda. He had a captive audience right next to him, even if she was a little less than conscious. The near-constant friction with Maze just served as a reminder of everything else troublesome. Maybe he'd feel better just getting some things out of his head.

He started speaking and the words were slow and labored.

"You can't know what it's been like. Couldn't possibly. The difference between where I began and where I've been, and am now…fathomless. Unbearable at times, really, not that anyone truly cares. Myself included most days. My, doesn't that sound pathetic?" He laughed softly, scathingly, at himself.

"Some, probably most, would say I deserve all the discomfort – nay, pain – I've experienced. My family certainly. I've contact with one brother. One of many, and our relationship is…complex at best. My father is an inconsistent dictator and I bridled under that. But when I was created they knew, knew what I was, what I was for, what anyone with some sense could expect…but it didn't matter. Nothing I thought, or felt did, and that was made abundantly, ever-presently clear to me. More so after I left home, given the options left open."

Lucifer was silent for a time remembering how stunned and repulsed he'd been to realize Hell was all he'd been deemed good enough for. Determined to ward off his own pain by controlling that of others as they wished but finding himself ill-suited. He'd not been made for that sort of creativity and it was twisting him. Perhaps permanently. He'd told Linda about the grating weight of inevitability that came with 'eons of providing a place for dead mortals to punish themselves'. Needing so badly to escape that before blind madness destroyed the rest of the spirit rejection had not.

"Those tasks got old, eventually." He laughed lightly, and the glitters of agony in that sharp light nearly cut his tongue. "So I came here on vacation, with literally the only friend I'd made…if you can call her that. She's not a simple one – not her fault though, really."

He reflected for a minute more on Maze's recent point of view. He had created her, with all the free will and individuality he thought was so important. It wasn't her fault she was this way: she literally could not be any other. Stripped by him of her intended role she was in the middle of an unprecedented opportunity….which she also had little control over. This was a feeling he understood; loss of control and feeling unprepared. Perhaps she did deserve a little more leeway from him, as he did not want to repeat the mistake of shunning vilification as his father had with him.

"But escapes end…or so one thinks. Here I am still, not sure of what direction to go, not sure of what I should be doing, need to be doing to feel some peace from this hell I have in my head. The hell I carry with me despite trying to escape from it. Trying anything just to get by. Diversions, all of it. All kinds…little dodges but no true rest for the wicked, I suppose." He laughed again, cruelly.

"I suppose it doesn't matter. I suppose I don't either, though it is rather trying to think on. So I don't, usually."

This was true. He'd been accused in the past of not being personally reflective, but it had been the opposite. He'd spent so long in introspection to no avail, what was the point? After his fall he'd been stripped of many gifts; understanding himself was one of them. The first few years here of relearning certain feelings was both interesting and painful at times. The emotions of angels differed significantly from mortals but having a grip on neither was another form of mental torture, and like anyone else who'd learned sadomasochism he needed respites.

"And so here we are then, hey? On a bench, in the dark listening to a pale imitation of Heaven's music. Well I am, any road. You're still out cold. You apparently don't snore – hope you're not a drooler." He sighed. Strange, he did feel a little better having momentarily unburdened himself. He drew her in closer; her warmth felt good. Undemanding. Simply present. He brushed his mouth on her hair, giving her a faint, chaste kiss.

"As I said, terrible conversationalist. Good listener, though. Thanks, darling. I'd return the favor sometime as you seem to have some demons yourself, but unlike you, I'm a light sleeper."

He was. Caught in the strange cross of immortality in a mortal guise, certain traits such as sleep and hunger were almost optional, but taste was a pleasure and there was something refreshing…resetting about sleep that wasn't the waste of time he'd initially thought. He never dreamed; couldn't understand it. Considering his existence he was actually rather glad about that deficit from what he'd been told it could entail.

Unbeknownst to him, Canaan was a light sleeper as well.

She'd been awake for a while, listening to the sad dredge of his words. Lucifer hadn't realized, but when he was thinking of Maze his arm had tightened on her back. She begun to startle, eyes snapping open, but then realized he was speaking as if he was continuing a one-sided conversation. His spoken thoughts on being in actual Hell very closely dovetailed with her own version of painful ennui: trying to find purpose and meaning where every nerve sometimes screamed for the mercy of silence. Pain she hid in busyness and trying to do something good. To redress the stain of savage ugliness.

He talked like he understood this. On a fundamentally saturating level.

What a thought that was.

He was quiet now, listening to the music, occasionally brushing fingertips over some of the loose waves spilling out of her barrette. Not in a predatory sense, just musing. As he'd appreciated earlier, she too took unexpected comfort in just feeling someone near, breathing, heartbeat under her ear. Simply being together. It had been a long time, and it was nice. Confusing, but nice. Being skilled at compartmentalization, she sequestered complex thoughts and simply relaxed enough to enjoy the whole experience.

When the concert ended, she let him 'wake her up.' She felt trusted, but as he'd been convinced she was asleep when unburdening himself, she thought the very least she could do was keep his confidence. Wondering what else he'd said. He certainly didn't respond well to direct questions, and she could not fault him for that as she didn't either.

"Hey. Hey there, sleepy one. C'mon now. Rise up or you'll be arrested for vagrancy. Snoozing on park benches isn't considered to be properly civil-minded behavior. Hard to poke holes in people from jail, I hear." Lucifer jostled her gently with his shoulder, trying not to startle her. She lifted her head up and stretched. Her cheek had a slight crease from his lapel and he fought a sudden urge to kiss it.

"Mmm…oh, sorry! More tired than I thought, I suppose. Shouldn't have sat down; head disengages when ass hits a seat."

"And a nice one it is, too." He grinned at her, to which she rolled her eyes, again. He did recover quickly.

"You should probably have that looked at."

"Have what looked at?" She had gathered up the bag and he had insisted on walking her the two blocks to her car in the garage. Despite the amount of people still out and about well before midnight, she was glad of it and did not protest too vehemently. She detested Saul for many reasons, but reintroducing natural fears was high on the list.

"That neurological deficit you seem to have. Twirling eyeballs."

"Hmph. I find it's largely contextual."

"Oh really?"

"Really."

"Well, as scintillating as this conversation is, I suppose we should call an end to the evening before any more of your narcoleptic tendencies creep in. Thanks for the invite; hope you're less boring next time, though."

"And thank you, sir, for that confidence boost….and the coffee." She set the cup he'd insisted on buying her 'seeing as how you could be driving anywhere, furtive woman' on top of the roof as she unlocked the car door. Realizing he was standing too close behind for her to open it. Canaan turned.

"Yes?"

He looked just a little strange. Wistful, even. "What, no good-night kiss? I behaved in a most chivalrous manner, don't you think? Again?"

"Indeed you did. Come here." She grinned at his bright shock of surprise at her response to his tease, and as he leaned in she scooped his face in both hands, and planted a lip-popping smack on his stubbled cheek. It was a simple, friendly gesture of caprice and his reactionary response was to give her a quick, stilted hug. Canaan wasn't sure who was more surprised by that; her or him. He closed her door and watched her drive away, feeling better than he had all day. He resolved to take some of this pleasantness home and try to have more patience with Maze and her struggles. Theirs together.

Well, unless she was otherwise occupied.

Sometimes three was a crowd.


	10. Percieving Perception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter, stage left, some weirdness. Not a lot, just an amuse bouche

"Feeling chipper enough this morning are we? Not too snoozy?"

"YES, thanks. And for the love of God, hush up!"

Canaan flickered a series of glances around at the people milling their way into the board room, trying to see if anyone had taken notice of the familiar tone in which he'd addressed her. Fortunately, most had the glazed look of corn-blitzed cattle in a stockyard. She and Lucifer were standing outside in the hallway across from the door. He'd caught her eye as she'd come around the corner, and there was something…mildly alarming…about the bright expression he wore. He was waiting against the wall, hands behind his back and rocking on his toes, looking for all the world like a schoolboy with a pocket full of tricks. An amalgam of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn on speed had nothing on the mischief in his eye.

"What? We can speak in public, you know. That's not odd. However, you looking like I've dropped ice cubes down your back when we do, is. Good thing you usually wear a mask when you're working: you'd be a terrible poker player. Significant lack of facial finesse."

"Okay, right, thank you sir for the fortune-cookie quality psych assessment. I'll take it under consideration. Now, what's gotten into you? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary."

"That's a repulsive allusion. Besides, you'll see soon enough." Cheshire grin.

"Why am I suddenly concerned, I wonder….?"

"Well, you should be. It's something fun; a direct assault on your stodgy lifestyle."

Canaan offered him the sarcastic largesse of the best blank look she could manufacture on short notice. He merely cocked an eyebrow at her and kept up the grin. As he tilted his head lower to speak softly to her, his eyes swept the hall where the last of the people were entering the room.

"Now as someone who abhors the thought of scenes as you seem to darling, all you need to realize is that I shan't take 'no' for an answer. Something to keep in mind to battle the reluctance I'm certain you'll toss back. Now crack on; can't be late, loads to discuss this morning." He gave her a little prod on the small of her back as he breezed past her into the room to the front of the table, leaving smiles and nods in his wake. Canaan was the last to enter, closing the door behind and making her way to the back corner spot. 'Trepidacious unease. Yes. That's definitely accurate.' Naming the feeling she took her seat.

Fears aside for ulterior motives behind the mischief he'd warned of, she was actually pleased to hear that initial research had come back indicating that several smaller funding venues would be of more community benefit than one large outlay. She'd actually had an idea herself, but hadn't brought it up to Lucifer at all. She wanted to do a little more legwork on it solo, and also had mild concerns about 'conflict of interest' regarding their friendship. She felt taking advantage of someone's generosity and financial health was in poor taste, but she knew there were more than a few in this room catering to him in order to do just that. She was a little defensive on her friend's behalf for that reason, but he seemed to have the situation well in hand. Perhaps anyone who grew up with the amount of wealth and influence he'd implied, 'estranged father' or not, was just accustomed to it. It seemed a little sad, though. Canaan had found him to be intelligent and generous and other than occasional brashness and idiot humor was a respectful friend simply for himself.

She realized, rather surprisingly, that since he'd been such a good keeper of secrets regarding their interactions, she could have no way of knowing he didn't have all sorts of other things going on clandestinely with others. Having become quite familiar early on with his reputation for being a 'slayer in the sack' as one awe-struck conquest had cited through the grapevine she found herself more amused than appalled by that; she considered certain aspects of peoples' lives off-limits, as she wished privacy for herself. However the sudden thought of him with others as they were, becoming closer confidantes (even if he thought she was unconscious for his more personal revelations) irked her. Strongly. Why?

Perhaps because she knew she'd had nothing like this for a long time. And wouldn't now, had he not been so endearingly persistent about it. But maybe that was his status quo…and she'd never asked, and he'd never said…and what the hell did it matter anyway because nothing did, really, right?

RIGHT.

OhJesusGodSpankingChrist that came on quick: she dropped right through a large crack in her previously impenetrable psychological armor. Out. NOW. Before the walls closed in.

Whipping her pager off her waistband and feigning sudden interest in it, she stood, gathering her few things and made for the door quickly, smiling excuses. Not looking at the front of the room where Lucifer had turned his head at her movement as they all listened to a run down on prospectives. She strode down the empty hallway, not going anywhere in particular, just escaping. Problem was, the thing she abruptly needed freedom from most was herself and she was stuck in her own prickly skin, having no clear idea why she was suddenly so distraught. Fuck this feeling bullshit; she'd hadn't met a problem yet she couldn't think her way out of, and her past had some pretty spectacular opportunities to hone that skill on. Fuck this shit, indeed.

Hospitals were full of people in scrubs and white coats rushing around; chaotic normalcy. The intense look of concentration on her face and rapid pace meant people got out of her way and no one interfered with her quick progress to nowhere. Well, not directly. The phone in her pocket chirped. New text. From her nouveau Achilles' heel.

'what's going on'

Rapid volleys of replies commencing...and go.

'nothing of consequence'

'that's not an answer'

'that's the one I can give you'

'that's not good enough'

'it'll have to do, won't it' 

'canaan. WHAT HAPPENED'

'NOTHING of your concern. really. fyi turning phone off now' 

With a sharp snap of her hand, she did. Looking around to see where she'd wound up while her hands were busy, she found herself just outside Restrepo's office. Perfect. She knocked lightly.

"Come on in…hey Raene, how ya doing? Wait, aren't you supposed to be in a meeting right about now?"

"Just came from there, actually. Pete, look, I must've eaten something off; I feel not right."

"You look like shit, actually."

Great. Achilles' heel also correct about poker face issues. Well at least it made for a more convincing lie.

"Did you eat at the cafeteria? I just ate there, holy crap…"

"No, no…scavenged something in the lounge fridge for breakfast, I'm an idiot, I know. Look, I have a light afternoon, I'll get someone to cover and I'm going to leave, all right?"

"Yeah, Raene, no worries. Just go, I'll handle it. Call me later about tomorrow's shift, okay?"

"I'm sure I'll be fine." 'Damn STRAIGHT will be', she thought.

Pete had a hand on the phone to arrange coverage for her before she'd even left the office. In the five and a half months' she'd been here, no call-outs, shit ton of overtime, constant back-to-back suck shifts and a remarkable ability to shed bullshit. As far as he was concerned she could throw gomers off the roof and he'd back her up.

The faux chronically ill were in no danger; Canaan just needed an out.

And wasn't going to get it.

Lucifer was a master of discretion when it was required, and taking note of her departure and the following under-the-table texts were done with no one the wiser. But he wasn't simply human, and it wasn't a simple leave-taking. Confirmed not only by the phone in his hand, but the energy she'd left disturbed.

Everything human consciousness could perceive, comprehensively complex though it was, meant only the proverbial tip of the iceberg for him. The barriers in place between seen and unseen eclipsing quanta to stars were for protection of mortals. Any, anywhere: their balance was inherently delicate, hence Maze's go-to 'meat suits over vapor' comment. Beings such as himself were aware of the entire flux at all times; awareness based on the gradiations of power they were capable of wielding. As the first intentional creation, like God, Lucifer's scope was beyond the ken of most to imagine. Intentional energetic perception could be rather painful, actually, especially in his current stripped-down state, but he'd had time out of mind to become accustomed to it, and frankly what most mortals generated was on par with a nine-volt battery versus a reactor meltdown. Poe had nailed the potential discomfort disturbingly well in The Fall of the House of Usher, but diminished or not, The MorningStar was far more powerful than fiction, even in his current scratch-and-dent human guise.

The eddies of disturbance Canaan had left in her wake were not on normal human par. Blowtorch versus battery. Flamethrower, perhaps even.

This needed looked at as he could feel, even from here, that it wasn't getting any better.


	11. Dessert Makes Everything Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can suck to abruptly realize we're not as strong as we wish at all times. It can suck less when we realize it can also be a transient property. Especially with a friend. And dessert, lol. A little weirdness, a little gooey maybe…but nothing terribly shocking. As Linda would say, "That's for later." (and not much later at that. *wink*)

After the meeting wrapped, Lucifer had followed the trail of warp as easily as a bloodhound after a fetid scent. He'd found Canaan at the far end of the second-to-highest floor of the parking garage changed to jeans and a t-shirt. Not teetering off the puny railing thank dad, but in front of her car, sitting on the hood and staring at a crumpled newspaper sheet puffing along in a breeze-driven circle in the corner. The energy around her was doing the same thing; vortices and pulls. Strong for a human. He was somewhat surprised the paint underneath her rear wasn't crackling. To say she was less than pleased to see him was putting it mildly, turning at his voice in shock, sliding off and backing herself into the railing. He sat down in front of her right where she'd been on the hood. The metal still felt the *wrong* kind of warm, and as she had not responded well to his gentler queries he was becoming more aggressive as he tried to puzzle out this potentially precarious mystery.

"I saw you assaulted and barely blink an eye after. This is…" circling one hand palm down in front of himself at her with the other fist planted on his hip "…is significantly more reaction. To what, may I ask?"

"As I said. You may not." Her voice was a cold bark; brittle skin cracking over the roil underneath.

"Malarkey. Don't get lost in syntax, darling. Clearly, I have asked. And expect a decent answer."

"And exactly who in the hell do you think you are that you can reasonably 'expect' unwanted demands to be met by me?" Her words were expressing irritation, but her voice was going as flat as her eyes already were. She was running to hide while standing stock still right in front of him. Quite adept at it out of sheer habit.

Bollocks on that. 'I know exactly who in The Hell I am. You, however do not. Don't even know yourself apparently, making such a bloody bodging hash around here.' Lucifer kept mum as he thought this, watching her. He could feel the distortion wasn't better; rippling against the mental barriers he always kept as self-protection. Worse if anything, not that she had any idea, obviously. He kept the same fist punched on his hip and merely flipped the other palm over, fingertips wiggling in a 'come on, now' gesture. His brows raised and gleam strengthened in his eyes. He loosed the captivating magnetism under his discretion to get what he wanted. Like he always had. Well…mostly. Two snags in that equation.

And to no avail, apparently. Again. Canaan just blanked her eyes further and crossed her arms at him. Now this was interesting. Like the first time they'd met, when he'd been certain she was aware of his influence but hadn't responded to it (fearful for a brief moment back then he'd only met another version of Chloe Decker – and one of those was plenty, thanks much) she simply noticed it and silently resisted him despite his pull. He was reluctant to increase it, disturbed as she was already. Good thing that wasn't his only toy in a vast bag of tricks. His voice, capable of only truth, was perhaps more powerful than enticed coercion.

"I'm your friend, and what bothers you concerns me." The strength in this frank admission surprised him a bit as well, but there it was out in the open for both of them to hear.

"I can take care of myself, thanks."

Current state of affairs being an excellent indication otherwise, Lucifer begged to differ on that assessment of hers. Fine then, next trick. He actually disliked using this on Canaan as privacy seemed to be ridiculously important to her (what could possibly be so significant to one paltry human life to result in this when disturbed?) but it was a nice change from his normal application of this tool. And this flux could turn dangerous. For her. So…

Sensing. Not specifics, but general.

On mortal planes, as well as in Hell, most individuals were largely mysteries to themselves. Didn't know what they didn't know. He used to have no concept of how any sentient life could exist with shrouds drawn over large parts of themselves (purposeful or otherwise) until it had happened to him as part of his punishment during his long fall. Now Lucifer, like the rest of these mumps just limped along the best he could. Mentally shaking his head and refocusing on the task at hand he concentrated on the woman in front of him. Drawing out verbalizations of desires was one thing, but individuals had to be aware of these in the first place for that trick to work. Being able to accurately suss out what truly mattered to them in any given moment on a subconscious, gut level as well, produced a highly effective targeted form of punishment. It had certainly made the penalty delivered to Saul Prendergast most…'appropriate'. And unlike his coercive draw, this was impossible to detect. Quite an effective property of this tool, actually.

Or so it had always been. He saw a little spark ripple through Canaan's eyes as he sensed her. Odd. A riddle there. No matter. Lucifer had what he wanted.

He almost laughed aloud in exasperated derision. Another one. Another apparently kind person putting needs of others before her own. Another one getting under his proverbial skin further while doing it. This sort of compounded irony must indeed be a horrible invention of his father's to needle him with. She'd felt defensive of him during the meeting and belatedly realized this meant she actually cared about him more than she'd intended to. Him. And that fouled up some personal protection she was convinced she could not do without because she didn't want to simply shun him outright after realizing it. And the mere fact that she felt actual affection at all was also sending her corkscrewing into some serious distress. If Canaan had any idea for whom she was feeling this he'd probably have to scour her mind off the pavement with an existential power washer.

"You care for me. More than you wanted. And that bothers you. Why?" He had new respect for Linda Martin. This was difficult on both ends.

Canaan flashed her eyes wide in shocked surprise then closed them entirely, tired of trying to vacuously stare him down. There was something about that intense gaze of his, his intensity in general. He was a little much sometimes. As now. Quite a potent individual, even in small doses. And scarily astute.

She was still silent, but was thinking about what he'd asked as it had been prodding at her for a while, too. Best she could superficially (all she was willing to think on) come up with was because her self-assigned job was to fix the broken as she could not do for herself. And 'caring' actually had little to do with that, though not in a malicious sense.

Perform to exhaustion doing something, anything from which good could come of her effort. With no feeling required, simply skill. Only proficiency working through her hands could help save a life: not useless feeling.

Mere feeling had never saved anyone. If it only could...there would be no wailing behind hospital walls.

And feeling begets loss of control. Loss of control means allowing sleeping horrors to wake and breathe and leach their poison into mind and affect. And that cascade of inevitability bleeds to destruction and one doesn't have to stop a heart to die. Sometimes 'stopping a heart' is the only way to keep on, as one can't help the past, can only control present and future action. Locking anything unmanageable in an impenetrable box as method of control was vital to her. And feeling begets loss of that control…and on and on and on ad infinitum in the only closed loop she allowed herself. For five years. Five years since she'd known anything other than mind-numbing toil. Marking time in penance until her body disintegrated as she'd pushed her heart to.

Until maybe now.

And she didn't want this, whatever it was, with him: what was the point? Well, most of her didn't. And certainly he couldn't, choosing to play only; and that actually mattered less to her than feeling covetous of his confidences. And she hated herself for this unexpected crack in her construct, detested him a bit for even being to create this trip-up AND loathed herself MORE for being angry with him over something that wasn't his fault. Like simply existing, for chrissakes'. And all that turmoiled odium and angst got under her armor like hot oil, finding the little cracks of affection to seep through and torment her underneath it. Burning where she was trapped. In herself, by herself. By her own protective design. It was her singular experience that where affection could bloom horrifically corroding pain always followed …always. Another closed loop.

This had been Lucifer's only experience with deeper connections as well, other than Mazikeen. Here, his family, his father...He understood this, even without knowing her specifics. Canaan was quite damaged, indeed. Quite damaged, if this much disturbance was any indication. Just as he was.

However, one had to work with what one had. Or had been left with.

"Still not speaking to me, hey?"

Apparently not. Subdued, her eyes closed, arms crossed and trap shut. Like a child who thought she could make the world disappear simply by refusing to look at it. However, rather than being comical he was forlornly barbed to see how such a simple thing as this could unwind her. He'd been enjoying all their interactions, sexless though they were, and thought for the most part she had been, too. Other than the incidental scalds and falls, that was. The woman chose to jump into bloody horror day in/day out without a twitch, and here being his friend had reduced her to silent catatonia and tossed a serious ding in her proximal reality. Enough to give a chap a terrible complex, that was.

"Well try this on, silly git. I care about you as well. Truly. Inopportunely. Bloody irritating, I'll tell you, but by your scamper off perhaps you've got some idea of how inconvenient that is to discover, yeah?"

Canaan heard his flippant words but the solemn tone didn't match, and knew he'd said he didn't lie. Still stuck in her fissured armor, she thought, 'You can't. Can't possibly. Shouldn't if you do. Don't know how broken I am; what I've done.'

He was actually thinking exactly same thing regarding her but being his impulsive self it didn't stop him from pulling her in as he'd done when she was sleeping. With her arms crossed and eyes still closed he'd surprised her and before she knew it was nestled against him between long legs as he leaned on the hood of her car. Strong hands clasped loosely behind her back. Canaan initially stiffened in resistance but hearing a low, 'stop, now…just be' softened her. She stood, arms still locked against her chest and just allowed herself to settle in. The unexpected stress began to abate as she noticed the difference between the wash of warm summer breeze on one side of her face and the brush of soft material from Lucifer's shirt on the other. Comforting heartbeat underneath it. Some of the weight she hadn't realized she'd been carrying was lessened, and she appreciated him for that.

Lucifer was relieved as well as he felt the distortions around her dissipate and wisp away. This energetic jag was an unexpected wrinkle, credibly dangerous for her, but at the moment this improvement was all he could reasonably expect. He wiggled his chin a little where it rested on the top of her head.

"Feel better?"

"I feel really stupid."

"You should."

"Apparently you're stupid too, so…"

"Yes, thank you for pointing that out. Quite tactful, you are. Some friend."

"Mm." She turned her head and kept the lean. This did feel nice. Soothing as the bench; maybe a little more so considering they both knew she was awake. And the good words, too. He nixed the comfortable vibe with his next ones. Speaking nimbly, "Know what else is nice with a cuddle?"

"If you take advantage of my condensed breakdown to say something dirty I'll jam a thumb in your liver." She poked him a little with the one on the outside cross of her arms, immediately noticing how well-muscled his torso was. Deciding she'd had well enough angst for one day and shoving that appreciative thought out of her head.

Faux hurt tone, "Such violence. As if I'd ever…how could you possibly think me capable of such…? I was simply going to say, 'ice cream'."

"Well, apologies, then. I'm an idiot." Clearly being sarcastic as they both knew something lavishly lecherous was one of his favorite ways to add humor.

"Yes you are. Running away from me like that. And, you can buy to make up for your poor behavior. Making me worry about you…annoying little slip of a thing. Besides, you missed the bit of the meeting where I let everyone in on my surprise and I simply must tell you. I'm certain you'll love it."

Canaan groaned slightly. From his tone she was pretty sure she wouldn't. She was unceremoniously hustled into the passenger seat of her own car and was subjected to a litany of epithets about 'diminutively legged humans' (still had a hard time with those weird turns of phrase) while he adjusted the driver's seat. About twenty minutes later she found herself back on the hood of her car under some trees at a roadside stand. Trying to eat water ice without choking on grimaces from being merrily harassed for 'choosing something with mere frigid flavor when you could have something rich and creamily delicious, looky, it's right here why don't you?'. Being regaled with big plans from a big smile with a big chocolate smear on it. She couldn't decide if it was the gulps of frozen blueberry or more-than-minor dread that was giving her a sudden headache as Lucifer waxed on in cheerfully deliberate oblivion.


	12. Slope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's got a note midway. It'll make sense after ;-)

[-]

Lucifer was shocked. Could absolutely not believe his eyes.

"That is…literally appalling. Complete and utter desecration of….just…feh." The shudder accompanied by the Shar-Pei'd forehead, deep furrows of disgust running from the outside of his nose and the lemon-sucking twist of his mouth nearly made Canaan laugh aloud. But at least one of them should show some restraint. She settled for a grin and shake of her head.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Foul bastardization of a concept; I mean...honestly! No couth."

"No, a grilled cheese. And a really good one, too. Smoked gouda and tomato on challah."

"You said 'let's go for dessert'. That is not dessert. This is dessert." Using his fork to point at a decadently lavish piece of chocolate layer cake in front of himself. "And I'm not sharing when you've realized what havoc you've wrought upon your end of the counter." Now the fork was fluttering in the direction of her plate; a flatware exorcism.

"Thank goodness you never overreact, or anything."

"Indeed." His forehead smoothed out with the first bite of his treat, eyes drifting toward the ceiling in bliss. Expressive face aghast once more as Canaan happily accepted tongs and an offer from the small crock the shriveled owner brought down to her with a smile. He enjoyed watching these two interact as much as his wife did. They'd been in together a few times over the summer - always at an off peak time of day, like now. It was nearly midnight, but Lucifer was, and always had been welcome whenever he pleased.

"Beastly. Keep that vile stench to yourself."

"Don't like pickles, either, hm?"

"On the contrary, I enjoy a salty snap." Wincing a little as small white teeth adroitly lopped off the tip of the dill in her fingers. "Just not for…oh I don't know…dessert?!"

Ignoring the nattering petulance catty-corner to where she sat at the end of the counter, Canaan concentrated on the first hot (and decent) food she'd had in nearly sixteen hours. Reveling in the taste (and wondering if she could get another one) she realized Lucifer was looking at her expectantly. Mouth full, she could only stare back as she let her eyebrows do the talking and let a mangled "Hmm?" escape her.

"Honestly. Like feeding time at the zoo down here. How do they expect you lot to carry on as you do?"

She shrugged, chewing. She figured, as most of the trauma staff did, that they were always doing better than the person on the table, so complaining seemed…wrongish. At least serious complaining. However sick humor was so omnipresent they all used to joke about getting it on the payroll. Sucking down half a glass of water to chase the hoovered sandwich she finally got clear enough to speak.

"Still trying to get Saul's replacement up to speed – she's weeks behind. So, longer shifts for a bit. Worth it to not have to deal with him, though the fact that he just flat-out vanished is quite weird. Not a blip since you bonked him back in July and Labor Day is around the corner."

"I'd not waste one more thought on that cretin. Truly. Long gone, I'm certain." He was. Quite certain, in fact. Changing tone abruptly to cheerful excitement, "Besides, that's wasn't my original question…not that you could hear over the rapid mastication…"

"Sorry, what did you ask me?"

"I asked if you were ready for next weekend?"

Canaan's blank look horrified him until he saw the twinkle hiding in her eye. This was only the second time she'd briefly seen Lucifer since her minor meltdown some time back, and had been quite happy that he'd not brought it up. His texts and emails had been full of his grand plans for a 'full-on proper party' to benefit the hospital and kick off the second stage of proposed projects. Two had been approved and there were four more (one was hers, not that he knew this) in contention for the last two spots due to roll out in the next few months. This event was supposed to fill the coffers a bit, and as he kept saying, "Just to have a little fun and play for once." Apparently he'd had previous professional experience with nightlife on the West Coast – at least she'd heard; he hadn't mentioned much himself, only that 'he knew what he was doing, thanks much'. As a member of the committee she was supposed to go…as he felt the need to incessantly remind her.

"I am. Be running a bit late though." She put up a hand up to quell the irritated shock firing his eyebrows. "Lucifer. Just late, okay? Bohner has seniority, and made quite sure my team was one of the ones on for next Friday. He's a decrepit ass, so that wasn't really a surprise. Anyway, we'll be off by 11P and this place you picked is only a few blocks away. How'd you even get a venue spot with only a few weeks' notice? It's supposed to be one of the most exclusive buildings here."

It belonged to him, was how.

"I know the owner."

"Good thing for you, huh? I hear it's beautiful."

"Well, you'll get a chance to see it yourself, late as you may be. Hope you've got a better outfit than this scruffy get-up." Flipping a hand dismissively at her.

"Sorry, I didn't realize post-work yoga pants and a light sweater were taboo for midnight snack runs. And yes, I'm throwing something together."

"You are?" Surprise. A little fear on his face.

"Don't look so shocked. Learned to sew early on being short; I got sick of constantly back-and-forthing and paying for alterations. And at least when I pattern material it doesn't flinch. I'll be presentable, I promise. At any rate, not everyone goes around like a fashion plate 24/7 as you do." Flipping a dismissive hand of her own right back at his light suit. Pressed to perfection, even on a midweek midnight. Unbelievable.

"Can't see why not. Not enough beauty and too much flaw in this world."

"Mm." She slid off her seat and walked up to the register to pay over his protests. "Stop whining, for the love of God…this was my idea. Just glad you could meet me. Or I was."

"I heard that."

"I hope so; I did say it out loud." Smiling apologies at the dual crinkly cheer from behind the counter as she riffled through her wallet. The pair was always together the few times she'd been in with him; it was nice to see. She'd asked Lucifer how he'd found their hidden spot – it seemed so…not his style. His rather absent reply was that he'd just been drawn to it while out for a walk. Came by rather often actually, when he'd thought about it more. It was a comforting, easy place for a quick, quiet nibble. The only thing other than appetite and a book he'd ever brought here was Canaan. He was glad she liked it too, even if her menu choices bordered on the preposterous. A warm smile graced his face as he heard a happy little din from the register: Canaan had found a small white bag being pressed into her hands, and he was fairly certain the other one on the countertop was for him. Cake, no doubt. This place had the best devil's food around.

[A/N: It may seem a bit incongruent to have two short stutters of script juxtaposed like this, led by the exact same starter but that's the same abruptness our characters are going to experience, so *flash forward to party*. The song later is 'Ghost of You' by the Psychedelic Furs. Significantly more suggestive, though not too explicit yet.]

Lucifer was shocked. Could absolutely not believe his eyes.

Taking her in.

The evening had been a boon so far; throngs of celebratory humans were gathered under the crystal lights of the gorgeous ballroom, and spilled out into the high-rise balconies beyond the four walls. Food, drink and merriness abounded. The musical codex embracing it all was his special treat to himself. A full-on orchestra and choral group inundated the room with auditory glissade on everything from classic to contemporary. The whole milieu lit him from the inside out. Lux had been a great deal of fun; at least initially. Some of the splendidness of glitz translated in what he saw here: dancing, singing, imbibing…sheer superfluous joy. He relished the energy he was being swept with.

Only two deficits.

Mazikeen. She'd remained balky regarding his projects despite his best efforts of late and he refused to let her absence cowl over his entertainment.

Canaan. She'd not arrived yet as she'd assured. And it was nearly the witching hour. He took promises seriously and was beginning to be annoyed.

He'd started sweeping the room just after eleven, but no new influx of people that he could discern. Near midnight now and nothing…wait…maybe? No. He gave the small group coming in the side entrance a cursory evaluation; no one looked like her.

Wait again…something tugged his glance back.

Two young men in smart suits with giggling women laced to their arms…they looked slightly familiar…just behind two more men, a little older and leaning in to one another as if sharing a joke – one laughing, the other clasping his hand. Another couple smiling just beside them, looking back. An older woman arm in arm with two dapper middle-aged men, simpering. A young girl with ombre blond hair, running to meet friends already present. They all seemed recognizable…the piano bar? Just behind them, a serious blond. Tall, with a shy affect walking close to another woman. This one more petite, dressed in a form-fitting copper silk shell with an exposed shoulder and transitioning to a short, multilayered flowy skirt under the extended bodice. Long hair, intricately braided into entwined tendrils woven together and falling in a single cable down her back. Dark makeup on her eyes, deep wine color on her lips. Canaan didn't wear that.

Did she?

The rest of the group filtered into the room as the smaller woman stayed near the door, leaning against the opening. Arms crossed, taking in the room. That body language he recognized.

Lucifer took a breath, two glasses from a hovering server and a walk across the crowded space. Watching her. Willing her not to move away. At the last moment he swept out of a side entrance through an annex to come behind where she stood.

"Feels a little déjà vu, yeah?"

Extending a glass to where the woman stood just in front and to the side of the doorway. She turned to his voice, smiling.

"Yes. Something like." Accepting the proffered glass. "At least this time you brought the drink instead of prodding me like livestock. Looks like an amazing turnout; fantastic - I'm so pleased for you." Smiling through a claret mouth. Looking at him through smoky hazel eyes stoked in smoldered lashes. Gloved in that snug confection that revealed graceful musculature on a small frame.

"What?" She peered at him quizzically over the rim of the goblet.

He just stared. Then waved an elegant hand in front of her as he took a long draught from his glass. Swallowing hard.

"Not…scruffy. Not by any means."

Canaan chuckled. "This image brought to you by Singer sewing and Blake. I'm afraid my girl may have been a little too...enthusiastic with the war paint. She was a little snarky about how tired I looked but hey, big difference from twenty-three to forty. I remember never needing to sleep at that age. You look divine as well." He did, of course. Dark suit, darker shirt. Deep silver tie. Perfect as always.

Lucifer just shook his head. He'd been interested this way since the first time he ever saw her, but now…now he knew her better. And the difference that made from that day to this…oh.

"What? Getting a complex here. I'm going to go back to the hospital for the dermabrader if I look really ridiculous." She ran a thumb under one eye, looking at it to see if she was raccooned in kohl. Nope. Apparently this was indelibly industrial stuff. Darn that Blake.

"No. Lovely." He wanted so badly to touch the smooth dress, feel the weight of the thick braiding…run fingers over the skin on her bare shoulder.

"Lucif-?" He had plucked the drink right out of her hand and wheeled to put both of their glasses on a side table. Grasping her hands to pull her back through the doorway over to the small annex connecting the larger side balconies, marveling at the way the skirt fluttered around her legs as she moved. The dark was lit from the glow of the city below and the huge sweeps of windows above. The wash of sound spilling from all the open doors and musical laughter everywhere joining to sing around them…just not too close by.

Wind and starlight above. One, a MorningStar below.

Canaan looked up at him in surprise as he spoke.

"Do you dance?"

Pause. Small furrow deepening on her brow.

Oh no, there'd be none of that. Soft words, but strong, broking no arguments.

"Well. You are tonight. Remember, I'll not have 'no' for an answer. Don't want a scene now, do we?"

His affect was different. The words were the easy teases she was accustomed to, but the manner was not. He was more solemn. Refined, even…and she was suddenly taken with just how truly beautiful he was. Canaan tried to rebalance herself, needing her friend back… not this debonair stranger looking right through her. At these newly sweeping thoughts she wanted hidden still. "Even in these heels we're a little…mismatched, you realize."

Lucifer felt he was a mismatch for everyone in everyplace he'd ever been. One more minor circumstance wasn't going to throw him. The narrow annex had scatters of stone planters surrounding small trees. Wide slate topped the circles…all various heights. He still had her hands in his, and simply turned to sweep her up on the closest. Releasing one to place it loosely on her waist and a gentle push to give her a spin under their joined ones.

That skirt could move.

So could she.

Hand back at her waist, not clutching…letting her get used to him this way. The music and vocals of the arrangements spilling from inside were light, but kept intact the whimsical melancholy of the old song playing.

"…but falling over you, is the news of the day."

"Mm. Certainly hope not. Haven't had shoes like this on in a while. Or done this, either…" Canaan's voice, unfamiliar near his ear, was as wistful as the music he was moving her through. Lucifer was silent; all sensory perception and kinetic rhythm.

"Angels fall like rain…And love - is all of heaven away…"

Yes they did. And yes it was. For a just a fleeting moment, he didn't miss it as much. Pulling her a little closer, bending his elbow and curling their hands into his shoulder. Pressing on her back as he spun them to a different planter. Canaan moving right with him, the easy lean of her body released as she found her feet again, sliding her legs with his.

"Inside you the time moves

and she don't fade…

The ghost in you…

She don't fade."

Maybe some ghosts might. They were both thinking about theirs. And this now. This oddly complex, peculiarly comfortable little relationship of isolation, affection, words, humor…pain: implied and overt. For both. And the characteristics might be different but the reason was the same. They were each still, and for the moment alone - but together in proximal wonder.

"Drums beat time in you and I

and rain don't fall down here no more

it's coming down to losing it in you."

Lucifer pulled her against him again, gently at first but then more firmly, strong hand splayed on her back. Canaan went up on her toes, expecting him to turn them to another planter, but he didn't. She could feel his breath on her bare shoulder, rise and fall of his chest against her, swaying her with him. The little smirk he seemed to have in ever-present residence was gone from the full mouth. Those penetrating eyes were half-lidded and gazed down in softened focus at where his fingers were beginning to run over the hair braided down her back. His other hand still held hers firmly, tucked in and curled with his arm over his lapel. She was slightly off-balance as she'd misjudged the dance, and the gentle twist of his body backwards to the music allowed her to slope right in against him.

Oh…

This was no awkwardly chaste hug, or even a comforting lean. She felt fire. He was all hard muscle and malleable tension and her body responded to the shock of it. Lucifer raised his head, surprised to feel her press and her hand slide down his back. Not as surprised as Canaan was, truly. The hungry glance in those dark eyes, devoid of their usual flippant spark, sent another trill to light her up. He saw it happen, felt it, and for just a second gripped her hard, twisting with her, beginning to cant his mouth near hers.

"I'm in a mood for you, or running away…"

Both were true, but long habit slew her. She broke away.

"I'm sorry!" Hurrying off in the direction of the entrance and coat-check.

"Stars come down in you, and love - you can't give it away…"

He supposed not.


	13. Turning Corners for Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suggestive. Not overt. Trigger possible for brief mention of implied sexual violence

[-]

This was absolutely ridiculous.

And unacceptable behavior.

Not far away, another was thinking the very same thing.

Canaan stood in the center of the empty side corridor, wrap bunched in one hand, everpresent kit bag in the other, hard expression on her face. She'd gotten as far as twenty feet past the coat-check, adrenalized confusion fueling her escape velocity before she got a hold of herself.

He deserved better than this, and deep down, she knew she did as well. Instantaneous decision made to go back and find him to apologize; or at least try if he'd only listen. She whipped around and moved quickly back down the hallway. Short of breaking into a run (not likely in these damn heels being sucked deep into the miasma of plushy carpet) she was moving purposefully with no little momentum as she spun the corner, taking it close and plowing right into her intended target. One would think the impact would be enough to derail some of the steam she'd built up, but no.

For him either apparently; he simply brushed her aside and kept on going.

"Lucifer…please, wait."

Nothing. Just long strides. And he had far longer legs and better shoes for making headway than she. He was only a few steps from her, beginning to angle around the corner. Now or never.

She threw her bag right in front of his feet, and when he startled, slightly off balance with his turn and reaction to the sudden obstacle she caught up and jacked him into the wall, forearm braced against his chest. It was an absurd mismatch of strength but she was hoping he'd be unwilling to actually manhandle her out of the way. At least until she could say, "You surprised me. I surprised myself, and then behaved like an ass. And that's my fault, not yours. I am sorry."

Speaking of surprise, Lucifer considered this a rather unexpected turn of events. A welcome one. Still…

"You left me. Again. Which was rude." And it hurt, but he'd not debase himself by the mention of. "You know I don't like that."

"I do know. Do you forgive me? Say 'yes'."

"Demanding, aren't you?"

Something about him brought that out in her. Long habituation, probably.

"Say, 'yes'."

"Fine. Yes." A sigh. He recognized that this had been challenging for her, but it had damn well better not become a habit. She wasn't the only one with scars.

"Thank you."

Small silence.

"Well? Are you going to continue to accost me?" Looking pointedly at her arm still locking him on the wall, then at her smoked eyes as the small smile lines near his mouth began to deepen. She was no match for him, certainly, but he had been surprised at how strong she was. Something to this swimming bit, perhaps.

"I'm not sure." He looked closer. A novel one began to rise through the silting of expressions on her face. Appraisement? Of a different sort? That wasn't clinical detachment he was being evaluated with. She kept him at bay with her locked arm, but was clearly scuffling with some internal predicament and it was a little hard to watch. No, no. Not like this. He pushed her off him gently and pulled the wrap from her hand. Covering her with the swirl of thin material. Giving her back some semblance of protection and removing some temptation for himself.

Strangely enough, that's what turned the corner for her. Realizing deeply the only threat to her here was the one wearing heels. She stepped toward him, head down, hands flicking his arms out and over hers. He felt an electric jolt as she closed one arm carefully around his waist, the other hand laying on his chest, her cheek over it.

"Canaan…"

He held her against his body, gently pressing at the small of her back and her response to soften and lean in with his touch began to stir him more. Oh, maybe…He felt her shift slightly, noticing. Arresting herself…but not drawing away, either. The ebb and flow of pressure from her breathing kindling him further.

Maybe yes…

Maybe some reassurance? She should know, she'd been learning to know him, but still…sometimes humans needed to hear things aloud he'd learned. He chose his words carefully.

"I'd not hurt you. I promise it."

Silent belief, but overwhelmed with trying to think, feel and respond coherently all at the same time. Finally she spoke and her voice wasn't small, or guarded. Just reflectively honest with him, as if she were working to puzzle this out as well.

"It's not just…the garage."

He had been fearful of that. Lucifer was instantly, electrically furious on her behalf, wanting to visit ruthlessly vicious punishments upon those responsible for whatever had wounded her. Tried to ruin her. Uncharacteristically ratcheting back his normal expressiveness with a slow breath, knowing how uncannily aware of him she could be.

"I'll never speak of it. Ever. It's well over. And regardless, not simply…" she went silent again. Completely stymied on how to, if to say what she was thinking. What she was truly afraid of him knowing. What she might not wish to hide at all if she were stronger, a little more certain. Of him, yes, but mostly herself. What she couldn't hide completely anyway if they were to travel further down this enticing pathway.

Now it was his turn to be stymied. Lost in thought. 'And'? 'And' what? There was more?

She was still silent, but no longer still. A single fingertip traced just over the top of his collar. He held his breath. If she'd just move it over a little, just a little bit more so he could feel that trailing wisp on his neck…he dropped his head to her shoulder, not touching, only following what she'd offered for him so far. But as he spoke the soft hush of his breath warming her skin under the thin wrap sent a deeply refractive thrill singing through her body. Lucifer felt her responsive twist under his hands. Oh no, not just tolerating...she wanted him. He knew she did. At least part of her. And that's the part he spoke to now; equal parts gentle humor and sincerity.

"Sex is a far better distraction than work. From anything you need escape from. Better than water ice; of this I promise you, well, at least with me it is. Such fun, oh yes, but there's a great deal of refinement possible in that word, you know." Physical craving represented an outlet for the connection Lucifer had always felt sorely lacking in Hell and mortal planes; for the intimately rapturous companionship of Heaven. The total communion with one another was quite impossible to describe outside of it. Here was a poor, transient substitute compared to his true home, but he had quite limited options on this plane, and in this form for those unmet needs. Everyone here was so isolated, so very sequestered within themselves, well-shrouded as most were. As he was partially now, too. Finding this one way to feel bonding had initially been at least echoes of Heaven's bliss. Still was to a degree, but... Relearning emotion, first the primer of mortal and slowly, so very slowly indeed, his angelic ones as well added further dimensions to these acts and like everything else he sought after, he always desired more. Deeper, more profound nuances to everything…and had been long becoming dissatisfied with most of the mere simply biologic reactions he'd usually encountered with humans of late. It was amusing, certainly…but not enough. He was hungry, starving in fact…and the thin gruel of superficial sex was no longer satisfying.

Perhaps this might be different? He at least hoped, wanted to find out, explore. Discover and play with her, Canaan. His friend, specifically. Enjoy each other differently. More. Wanting her to expressively want him back. Needing that reassurance to stave off etiologies of rejection from home to here. Weakness, unworthiness others must have seen in him, though he did not understand why.

"Let yourself feel this, feel me…

Lucifer flexed his long body against hers: a slow, multidimensional ripple that whispered rather than shouted. He felt her tremble under his hands and he so wanted to pull her in harder and…

"…I'm the one in front of you now. And I'm quite skilled, I assure you. You're still a living, breathing woman Canaan, try as you may to ignore that inconvenient truth. Or me. This. But I shan't press further at the moment, and if you so choose, truly so, won't again. But if you're at all undecided…"

It was all she could do not to dissolve in shivers under the tickling whisper of his private elevator combination in her ear. He didn't repeat it, and didn't look back as he departed, either. She was left standing alone in the corridor between one hallway leading to the bank of elevators in the far lobby, and another leading to the exit outside. Two routes of escape from the current tangle to tempt her; and the destinations beyond each as different from one another as they could possibly be.

Lucifer found himself presented with similar dichotomy as he arrived upstairs. The office was dark and he walked around the room, lighting a few of the small lamps scattered around the airy space. He did not want to frighten Canaan if she arrived here, as he hoped she would. He poured a drink from the liquor cabinet, took a long swallow and set it on the corner of his desk as he collapsed into the large chair behind it. Thinking. Feeling.

Listening through the silence for the hum and soft bell from the hallway that would indicate arrival.

What he heard instead was a soft voice.

"You don't really expect to see that human here tonight, do you?"

Maze.

His voice was equally so, directed across the room to where she'd appeared by a window. "I don't know, truthfully. Rather exciting, this pins and needles business."

"You've done this before. Tried…whatever, with one of them. Oh, and another…I almost forgot the man. Rather a quick sizzle than a long burn he turned out to be – so disappointing." She laughed acridly. Coldly, remembering how easily she'd run him off, Lucifer being none the wiser. "Recall for me again just how that went for you, hmm?"

"Careful, Mazie. Mind yourself." His voice was still soft, but the steel under the silk of it was closer to the surface. "They are, like they all are really, quite different."

"Still human. Inherently feeble compared to us. That's enough similarity for me." Maze walked over to where he sat, taking in his posture. He was watchful of her, but not angry. She decided to press further.

"Lucifer. Regardless of anything else..."

He cut her off with, "Yes there's been quite a bit of 'else' occupying you of late hasn't there?"

She paused, accepting the retort. Then continuing "…and anything in the past…"

He interrupted her again. "Past. Yes. I seem to recall being beaten, shot – quite a few times, actually...hunted, tormented, killed even; that was quite a surprise…"

Mazikeen set her jaw. He was trying to distract her by making her react in anger and defensiveness so he could shut her down. It usually would've worked, but she was learning discretion in more subtle interaction…even if it wasn't originally part of her nature.

"I am for you. To protect you. And I am imperfect…" Lucifer sighed here as she spoke. Of course she was. He as well. Had already been marred, lessened when he made her and the other. He listened as she continued. "…but I swear it, I intend to fulfill my original role as best I can regardless of…anything or…anyone else."

She meant this, and he appreciated the admission. He doubted Amenadiel would, however.

"And Lucifer, I've always told you that I'd defend you from danger whether you could see it coming or not." As she spoke these words, she walked behind his chair, running her hands down his neck and over his shoulders as she knew he liked. Feeling unresolved tension in this human guise of his and being angry for it. As she was ever angry for any pain or discomfort of his, unless it was intentional. She smiled a little to herself here…that had been another part of their relationship she'd missed. Amenadiel was…lovely and entrancing…but he'd yet to discover all of her appetites. Lucifer was all the types of attachment she'd ever known – loyalty, protection, admiration, fealty - since her beginning until very recently in her long, long life. While the concept of 'love' was still beyond her, she was willingly bound in fluid choice: knitted, meshed with him in indescribable ways. He was hers to cherish and she wanted him kept safe and whole. As possible, considering. He knew this about her, as knew her so very well. As only he could. As she for him: all of him, not just this one facet he'd shown this frail, simple creature he was waiting on. Too frail, with what she'd learned and never told him. Would never. She didn't want him to be careful…she wanted the human to break away. Break apart.

"I think…I think this one could be dangerous for you. And I'm telling you, promising…I'll not allow you to be hurt. Not again." Her soft, melodious voice dropped low enough so he could barely hear the last phrase. As she could barely hear his response to it.

"I might choose to risk that pain, you know. Free will, Mazikeen. Yours, mine…theirs…it's what matters most. And that keeps the game constantly changing, does it not?"

From out in the hallway, they both heard the soft chime as the elevator doors opened.

Maze let a cryptic smile flood her face as she leaned over the back of his chair. Letting him see her predatory expression as she ran a long, sharp nail down the side of his neck. "Let's watch and see how well she can play then, all right?"

Lucifer simply raised his eyebrows as he waited for the door to crack open.


	14. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1)More risqué. I'll have a marker in the text where it starts. If physical interaction ain't your thing, just skip to the end where I'll have another small note just hitting the high points of what they discover and discuss. 2)As I've said, I'm a tech writer, not fic, so I hope this lands well for those who read it. I will say, I really do intend this (and the other instances of intimacy elsewhere - of any sort) to be there for a purpose, not purely smut for its own sake. 'Not that that's not fun, mind', says our devil

[-]

Striding through the empty corridor Canaan was led by instinct rather than reason for the first time in recent memory. She'd stood alone for a time after he'd left, hidden, giving the unexpected war raging in her mind and body close consideration. Relinquishing rationality was never high on the docket, but compartmentalizing was one of her best-honed skills and she shocked herself at her willingness…no, desire… to use it now. The decision was so unexpectedly abrupt, given how much time she usually spent wrestling over mental snares. Canaan was breaking through an ice-skinned surface after being sentenced to hold her breath; mentally gasping clear draughts of air deep into a stale system. She headed straight to the elevator, keying the combination he'd told her. The smooth hum in the machinery echoed the trill of exhilaration she felt whispering just below the surface of her logical mind. The doors hushed open and soft chime sounded. Beyond, a short hallway softly lit with beautiful sconces led her forward, and the deep plush of the carpet silenced her approach. She could see a faint glow of light beyond the closed door at the end from the smoked glass transom above it, and deliberately chose not to pause in consideration of what (or whom) might be beyond, nor to knock. She twisted the handle in a steady hand, finding it to be open as he'd promised. She walked through and in one smooth motion pivoted to close it again without ever looking into the room. As the door shut with a soft click, she turned to step several paces away and surveyed, scanning slowly to gather her bearings. It was an irregularly spacious room, with several clusters of seating arrangements, another wall and doorway on one end and a large desk at the other – all of this cradled in the city's nightscape on three sides by open sweeps of tall windows. Two figures were behind the desk, a slender, powerful one standing behind the long form leaning back in the chair, lovely dark hands resting on the lapels of his jacket. A feminine voice unfamiliar to Canaan spoke, abrasively territorial.

"Well…well, well. Look what little moppet has come to play. You didn't tell me you'd gone toy shopping to enhance our games, Lucifer. Should I be expecting more of them?" The strong tones were edged with amused venom. Canaan walked forward several more steps, never looking at the woman behind the chair, only at Lucifer in shadow before her. His chin was resting on steepled fingertips, legs crossed, swiveling slightly as she approached them before stopping several feet away from the front of the desk. The small pools of light from the lamp on the desk corner and a few others scattered around leant not much illumination but the gleam in his eyes shone brightly nonetheless. He remained quiet with a little smile, watching her. Canaan was dispatching Mazikeen's barb the same way she'd done for his own attempts to coerce – deflection rather than resistance. Maze was willful and spirited; and hated to be ignored. Grounds for an interesting interaction there…Canaan was quiet herself, fingertips drumming once over the edge of the bag resting by her hip, the other hand lighting where the drape of the wrap whispered over her shoulder. Lucifer's own broad shoulders rolled slightly, his body keenly tuned to hers. Maze felt him move under her hands, becoming more angry at the intrusion – and what the watchful silence portended.

"Oh, doesn't this one speak? How disappointing. You know I prefer when they're boisterous…just adds to the fun."

Still silence. Still two pairs of eyes locked and one other pair igniting in barely-restrained frustration at the lack of human response.

Canaan lowered her bag to a chair across from the desk. She brought her hands to her throat, slowly unwinding the gauzy film of the wrap, revealing the bare shoulder he'd covered not long ago. She saw the man in the chair drop his hands to the arms of it, fingertips pressing into the supple leather (both wishing it were her skin under them instead). Leaning his body forward slightly. She watched his eyes darken and didn't even realize how her own were doing the same as she shifted her weight and tilted her head slightly at him. He didn't miss it. He echoed her small movements with his own, like a serpent following a charmer.

Maze made one last effort. She felt Lucifer pulling away from her, and she clutched the collar of his suit jacket, flavoring the abrasion of her voice with a lurid placation. "Here, let me help get things started…" Lucifer slowly rose to his full height in front of her, jacket peeling away down his arms as Maze held on to it. Standing tall, under fewer layers, Canaan could see his chest rise and fall with deeper breaths. She knew how that felt against her body now. Still silent, her own breathing altering. He finally spoke.

"I don't think we'll require your 'help', Mazikeen. Be a dear and get the lights on your way out, will you?"

The flare of anger in the demon's eyes behind him grew exponentially at Canaan's only words to her.

Hazel met amber in a flat lock. "No. Leave them on."

"Mmmm…" Low masculine purr from behind the desk. "Like that, then…"

Enraged, the dark woman stalked away, turning to look back once as she closed the door behind her. Her boss and that…human…still stood, looking at each other like gifted children given an overly-simplified task for which they were ill-prepared. Ridiculously separated by the gulf of the desk, apprehension, and anticipation. She vowed not to let this pass, but needed time to gather herself…and prepare appropriate punishment. True, she didn't know this one as she had the others, but it didn't matter. Humans weren't to be trusted with him. They were too weak.

When they were alone, Lucifer broke the silence between them. He picked up his tumbler from the desk, drained it and indicated the liquor cabinet by a long couch with the bottom of the empty glass.

"May I offer you a nightcap?"

"I don't need one, thanks. Muddled enough." Small smile. Canaan lay her wrap over her bag and came to sit at the far end opposite the cabinet. "Who was that?" He looked over his shoulder at her. No ire or jealousy that he could see; just mildly curious. Who was Maze? Such a simply complex question. His first creation of only two. His demon protector. His consort, confidante, bafflement, thorn in his side…and who knew what she'd become next?

"My…assistant of sorts. Did she ruffle you? She can have that effect on people: bit brash. Sure you don't want? He wiggled a sloshy bottle at her.

"Nope." The answer was for both questions and he could see the unobtrusive confidence in the word.

[-]

He smiled, cautiously pleased. "Well," he said softly, "Perhaps I just might." He poured himself two generous fingers and came to sit in the center, his near arm stretching along the back towards her, first hasty swallow leaving a small amber drop at the corner of his mouth. She reached out, brushing it off with one finger and he was more than a little astonished when she grazed it over the tip of her tongue.

"Tastes good." She tucked her legs underneath and inched closer.

"Aren't you a surprise, then?" He leaned forward to place the tumbler on the table in front of them, and felt one of her hands come to rest on his chest, gently pressing him back. The contact fired him and he reached out for her. Deftly she blocked his arm with her own, and halted his lean with her other hand. He stiffened, watching her move. She wasn't looking him in the eye, but at her own hands as she touched him. Soft fingertips whispered down the plane of his face to his neck (yes, please there…), the others running along the top of his collar and dipping inside to relish the difference between cool shirt and warm skin. She was exploring him. Simultaneously aroused and amused, he lifted his hands away and angled back to give her access, waiting until he was invited. Staring at the refractions of city light on the ceiling with half-lidded eyes, feeling her hands graze over him. The knowledgeable innocence in her foray was intriguing, and he decided to make himself more comfortable to enjoy it. Once more he stretched his left arm toward her on the back of the couch, and leaned in a little, but before she could react he closed his eyes and rested his cheek on his shoulder. He stopped moving entirely, all long-limbed ersatz purity waiting to see what she would do.

For a moment, nothing, and he was mulling a risk on opening an eye to peek when he felt her. A thumb, running over one eyebrow, fingers sweeping through his hair, down behind his ear to give a tentative tug at the nape of his neck. He tilted his head, wanting to be petted more and felt her draw away. So no reaction; he was being required to hold perfectly still in this game…interesting. Another moment passed with nothing. He was being reprimanded and that made a small smile curl his mouth. Fine then. With his eyes closed his other senses were heightened: he could hear her breathing, feel her weight shifting on the cushion (she was coming closer!), then the warmth of her body – so near, but no contact. He wanted to move, impatient…after earlier this little bit of sport was more of a challenge than he'd reckoned on. But he remained still.

The reward for that was pretty torment. He felt her hand run through his hair again, fingers winding through it. Another whisper with her thumb, this time tickling over his eyelashes. Soft fingertips grazed his cheekbones, tracing the curve of his ear then he felt Canaan turn her wrist to brush the back of her hand over the stubble on his cheek. She must've enjoyed it as the caress was repeated with short nails leaving invisible scorch trails on his skin. A fingertip tracing the faint smile lines he knew he couldn't help at the corners of his mouth. Two hands swept down his neck, fingers grazing under his collar again. Pausing at his throat to loosen his tie…he couldn't stop the low hum that escaped him…she held still for only a second; she was enjoying this too. The censure here was a gentle tug on the unfastened ends; she pulled him a little closer. He could feel the side of her body warm against his and wanted to fold her in, but sensed she still needed time.

Canaan was captivated. With Lucifer for allowing her total freedom to ease into this with some semblance of control, and herself for behaving as she was. To say this was an out-of-character series of actions was putting it mildly, and she was glad his eyes were closed so he couldn't see the fascination she knew was playing over her face. He was beautiful, and she was drinking in the opportunity to observe him so closely. Since he was letting her orchestrate this little diversion…she decided to see how far he'd let her get before objecting. She slowly unfasted his collar, then the button after it, pausing only to draw a line of connected stars from his chin, down his throat and over each collarbone as far as she could reach before being restricted by the fabric. One more button undone allowed her to place both palms on the top of his chest, pressing into his skin. He accepted it, but she could feel his heart beating faster, and knew hers was following suit. She watched his face, eyes still closed under those heavy lashes, the little smile giving way to slightly parted lips and tensing of his forehead. She could feel his hips shift slightly, then he froze; working against his nature to be still for her. Her tease was becoming cruel to them both, and even though the line they were now crossing over meant she'd have a different confession to make before this was over…she felt more ready now to face that choice. Canaan's hands flew with surgical dexterity down over the rest of his chest and belly, his shirt unbuttoned in their wake. With a broader expanse of perfect skin over smooth muscles to explore, she tried to quell her apprehension by just appreciating the appeal of what lay before her eyes and under the work of her hands. Soft fingertips barely skimming, then nails grazing over him…watching as his expression changed. Eyelids firmly shut under a heavy brow, jaw flexed tight, slight flare to his nostrils as his breathing deepened. She could feel him start to move and arch against her touch and now she encouraged it, kneading and pressing harder along the clear definitions of muscle and bone, learning his preferences by watching his reactions. When she saw how hard his hands were clenched into the leather of the cushions, she paused, not to punish, but to silently ask him to join in. Canaan brought her hands together over his chest, and waited for him to open his eyes.

It had been a long time since Lucifer had let someone curtail him, and while he had been enjoying it he was becoming too roused to endure much more. He felt her go quiet, hands against him. Opening his eyes to look at her he was pleased by what he saw. Her light hazel ones were turning ever darker over flushed cheeks, she had bitten into the corner of her lip and he could feel a slight tremble running through her where they touched. She was looking down at her hands, nervous. Why? Feeling correctly that she was seeking a cue from him, Lucifer closed his right hand over her left and guiding, not pulling, carefully ran their hands down the slope of his body watching for any sign of hesitation in her response. He paused briefly at his buckle, but did not feel her draw away. With rapacious smile barely masked, he slipped them lower, her hand still cradled in his and pressed her from above and below. He felt her fingers flicker as she applied pressure of her own, and he instinctively moved against her in response. He kept his hand over hers, pushing himself harder into her palm.

"Ah, yes…I've so wanted this from you."

She had turned her face into his chest when he'd first brought their hands together, and he dropped his mouth to her ear. He nosed a loose lock of her hair away softly and purred into the delicate whorl. She quivered a little at the vibration, and he reminded himself not to hurry. For a doyen of control such as he was, this was unexpectedly becoming a more difficult prospect.

"Feel what you're doing to me." he murmured, followed by a swift hiss as of her own volition her hand slid his length, fingers rippling. Again, more insistently, discovering what lay under the expensive fabric. His breathing came faster, a low, hungry sound escaping from the back of his throat. He felt her body flex as she stretched one leg against the back of his forearm, increasing the sweet pressure and muddling his senses further. Abruptly, and with unwelcome apprehension he realized she had become rigid with tension, her only movement to bury her face further into the side of his chest. He felt a small shudder rack her, but much to his trepidation it did not feel like passion. He paused, his sense of misgiving deepening as he spoke gently against her ear, saying her name. Silence was the only response she gave. The lock of hair had fallen back, and he reached up to brush it behind her ear. Although he was becoming increasingly concerned, the fact that she had not drawn her hand away when he released it confused him, even more so when she pressed into him yet again. Swirled in perplexed pleasure, he paused to steady himself.

"Canaan." He touched the side of her face with his elegant fingers and tried to cup her chin up to him. She resisted, tucking further away as she shook.

More insistently, "Canaan, tell me what's wrong." He swept a few errant strands back and kissed her temple, horrified to taste salty liquid. What was happening?

Truly worried now, he pulled back and ran his hand along her jawline again as she tried to stay buried. Moving to push his away, she brought both hands up to cover her face, spasms coming faster now, and silent rivulets began to flow freely from under her palms. She exhaled quickly and sucked her breath in, trying unsuccessfully to contain herself. Trapped by the back of the couch, and the slim leg that was still applying provokingly firm pressure, he was at a loss. Then he heard the most unexpected sound…

A peal of laughter.

It dawned on him that he'd never heard her laugh, other than the quick snippet the first time they'd met or the occasional chuckle. This was wholly different. Brilliant sounds sparkled with the effervescence of champagne bubbled to the surface of her. He was hearing a pure cascade of joy, unexpected by either one of them. A subliminal part of him realized what a gift this rare display was and a dazzling rip of happiness spun though his ardor and confusion.

Lucifer waited impatiently until her breathing slowed, and the ringing laughter turned into the occasional breathy giggle. Still looking down at her hands closed firmly over her face, he said, "Darling, I have many laudable skills, but complete omniscience is not one of them. Care to explain?" She muttered against her palms something he could not understand and he could feel her body tensing to sail off into another series of paroxysmal spasms. Not acceptable! He pulled at her hands. "No no no, you don't. Tell me!" She resisted him, still catching her breath, then uncovered her face and knuckled tears away. Clever hazel eyes peered up at him mischievously. His brows knitted slightly with bemusement at yet another novel expression from this previously stoic person. She slid her left hand back down his chest and then over his belly, fingertips spreading and pressing firmly against tensing muscles. Canaan's fingers, then the heel of her hand again slid down the ample rise of him, the warm, steady pressure deepening the sweet ache. If anything, he was even more befuddled.

"Do you have a license for this thing?"

He gaped at her, incredulous.

"I mean, that's a rather formidable weapon you've got there. I'm out of practice, and you're simply intimidating!" Seeing the desire behind Canaan's flushed cheeks, eyes still sparkling with cheerful tears and her roguish grin sent a strong pang through his heart and body both.

"You little minx!" He spun up into a sit, pulling her with to kneel astride him. The short hem of her dress fluttered down as he ran both hands under her rear, settling her firmly on his lap. They moved together in one indolent arc, her strong legs gripping his hips. "Just wait until you see how well I'm going to introduce you". The smile laced through the huskiness in his voice licked deliciously at her.

"Well, nothing too extreme I hope. You know I hate the orthopod on weekend trauma call, and if that jerk gets to see me naked I'll never forgive you."

That did it. Despite wanting her all the more, the long wait and her sitting on a rather significant source of his impatience: Lucifer buried his face in her neck, folded her firmly into both arms and surrendered himself completely to the same mirth she'd been stricken by. She joined him, the high chimes of her laughter dancing over the deeper bell tones of his; the sounds of the two becoming one.

Their embrace of simple joy and affection, and the release of their laughter allowed tensions superficial and deep to begin ebbing away from them both, drawing back the veils over spaces within themselves in need of healing. Holding each other tightly, their shared hilarity eased into warm, refocused attention on each other. The rapid breaths of merriment slowly morphed into renewed proximal awareness. Not just physically, but perhaps the advent of a more significant emotional attraction as well. Even though neither would have ever given voice to the thought, each felt it was truly the first time they were meeting the spirit of the other, veiled under their shells. Lucifer still had his face to her neck and an arm across her shoulderblades. One hand played over her braid, and the other arm wrapped firmly around her backside, securing her to him. Canaan had his head cradled in her arms, elbows resting on his shoulders while letting her fingers meander through his hair. For a few easy moments, they simply basked in the slender halocline between contented warmth and the sear of greater heat.

Feeling the gentle substance of her body against his turned the corner for Lucifer first. "It's my turn, now." he intoned softly. Her responses were a little tug from her fingers in the thick waves and an involuntary shiver of anticipation. He began to run soft kisses under her jaw, pressing the tip of his tongue in small, slow circles and felt her pleasurable hum more than heard it. The avant-garde mandarin style collar of her dress covered her left shoulder from ear to arm and exposed the right one entirely. He navigated over this sensitive area like a man given a rare passport to a foreign county. He took his time, working from her ear down the pulse of her neck, and explored the hollow of her collarbone with soft lips. When she felt his teeth nip gently at her she arched her back against him and he pulled her tighter into his body. She exhaled sharply, ducking her head to nip back at the top of his ear. His swift response was to pull her right hand to his mouth, sucking and biting at each fingertip in turn. Getting lost now, she ran her open mouth down the side of his neck, tonguing the sleek muscles she felt moving there. She breathed in deeply – he was intoxicating – his scent, his touch, his responses – everything. It had been so long since she was close to another like this, living in a nearly pure cerebral world as she had with only clinically detached contact. She felt as if she were becoming drunk on the heady physical sensations she was awash in and he keenly welcomed the winds of change he felt coming over her. Canaan moved more fiercely against him, enduring the pain of drawing her body away to welcome the pleasure of his increased pull to bring her back.

Lucifer sustained the intensified challenge of her body to his: her breath quickening, the sweep of her mouth, the dance of her nails skimming his neck and arms just lent fuel to the fire of his own adamant response. Playing her like an instrument, he ran his fingertips over where his mouth had traveled, and further. She was slight enough for him to span his outstretched hands across her almost completely. Feeling her arch and press sent him into a tailspin. Knowing he would need some tempering to retain the control he sensed was so important here, he reached both hands to her face, gently bringing her down to his. He had driven her so high this first kiss was nearly violent, and it fundamentally unsettled his guard. He could feel the intensity coming off her in waves, so powerful; like a prisoner freed who'd long forgotten they'd been locked away in the first place. It had to be an impossibility, but she felt elementally natural as he was. Willing accustomed fortifications back in place, he deepened and slowed their kiss, brushing his hands along her neck and running his thumbs over the sensitive areas at her nape. Canaan wasn't just responsive to him, she was collaborative; teeth, tongue, lips all exploring as feverently as he did…and her strength belied her physicality. He slowed them further, keeping after her mouth with small sucking bites. Settling back slightly, he just looked at her.

The light hazel eyes he was accustomed to were now darkly tempestuous and glittering, nearly feral. He felt a shock of recognition; this degree of passion echoed the openness his expanded senses could render him though on a much smaller scale. Still, he had not often seen such manifestation in a human other than those actively martyring themselves. Watchful, he briefly tested the strength of his mental barriers, increased them and was shocked again to see her eyes flicker slightly in confusion as she perceived the alteration in energy somehow – how could she? Yet another riddle.

Under his scrutiny she was suddenly terrified. Of what they were doing, of him…most of all herself.

Asking her permission with his gaze, he brought his hands up to the line of small buttons on the high collar of her dress and paused, his fingertips lightly moving over them, but not unfastening. Suddenly her eyes changed again, clouded, cleared and then he felt her watching him even more intently, if that was possible, but now behind a staunch crystal barrier of inherent self-protection. The speed in which it happened breached a well of unexpected sadness in him. Great hurt was the only tool that could create great walls, and he knew that better than most. Her guarded expression echoed of their sparring match at first meeting when he had seen 'Canaan' disappear and only the locked-down mystery of Raene the clinician, the expert of others' trauma appear in her stead. He was afraid it was happening again, and did not want to lose her, lose this moment of connection they had within reach. He tried to break the wicked cloy of the spell by speaking, his sonorous voice low and run through with multi-focal needs.

"May I?" he asked, a sensitive fingertip stroking the first button under her ear. Her body shivered in response, but the light did not reach her eyes. He took a careful breath. "Canaan. Please." She closed her eyes, and exhaled softly. He felt sliced open on the razor edge of waiting until she moved. Her right hand laid gently upon his chest over where his heart was pounding in apprehensive anticipation. Her left lifted to cover both of his where they rested on her collar. "No." she said softly. The instantaneous crush of her word was heart-crackingly painful, more so than he had felt in a very long time, rendered more poignant by the knowledge that he had not realized just how much he was engaged with her until this moment. The trifecta of loss, fear and distress held him in check. The hand over his heart pressed gently, the warmth suddenly evaporating as she moved her fingertips to rest on his mouth.

She struggled. If not now it would be never…of this she was certain.

Her eyes opened. "No." she said again, even more quietly. "No more talking." He just stared at her, afraid to move, to breathe, of breaking whatever tenuous hold she had on the incredible effort it was taking her to pull that barrier down. He could see her fighting so hard, and when she closed her eyes again and bowed her head slightly, his hopes fell as well. She took a deep, shuddering breath, raised her chin and opened her eyes once more. The beautiful greys, greens and browns of the twin hazel seas were a little brighter now behind only a very thin sheen of tears, no longer an impervious barrier. He cautiously exhaled, slowly, respectful of the strength it must have taken to free herself. Even if her haunts weren't gone forever they were in abeyance, at no little cost he sensed.

Fearful but moving through…

She brought her hands together under his to loosen the first buttons of her collar, their eyes locked in silent communication. After only a few, her fingers began to tremble. He closed his softly over hers, stilling her with comfort without knowing why she needed it. Just that she did. Her hands slipped from underneath and dropped to her lap, her eyes following. He was still for a minute more, feeling her heart thundering against the heavy silk of the dress under his hands. When he began to loosen more of the buttons she did not stop him, but did not look up, either. He paused to lift her chin with one finger, intuiting the magnitude of them doing this together: not him doing something to her. Eyes locked once more, he loosed the rest of the buttons where they ran over her shoulder, angled back across her collarbone and swept down across her sternum to her hip on the opposite side. The bodice of the dress was raw silk, thicker than the skirt, and even undone did not separate until she partially shrugged out of it, hatching. Resolution tinged with concern darkened her eyes. One way or another, now she would know what he truly thought of flaw. She never stopped looking at him as his gaze swept her body, newly cognizant of her fears.

She was striking, but not for all the reasons he had anticipated. A slender frame, with almost ballet-configured physique comprised her. Smaller breasts, high and firm. Her trim waist flanked the outlines of the flat muscles in her belly, quivering with unease. Whispers of silvery streaks – she had carried children? Several thin surgical scars marked her, but it was the large one with refractory twists that marred her symmetry in a silent shriek of vehemence. The streak of devastating lightening erupted from just behind her neck on the left through an angle between her breasts and down her right side, nearly mirroring the path the buttons had laid over top. He knew she had made this dress, and the purposeful display of a reflection of private pain stunned him; she'd sewn a self-made scarlet letter of pearl spheres. Why? The shining flesh of the long scar was twisted with pale, raw shades of molten pink at the center, smaller glossy branches tendriling away. Welted chips of smaller damage sparked away from the main insult. The injury clearly was not new, but he was struck just as if he was watching her being gutted in front of him. Such pain, and not simply physical, he could surely sense that without even trying. It was her resolution and strength that made her suddenly so beautiful. Survivors always are. On pin tips she waited for his reaction. He again met her eyes, and then leaned in slowly to place his hands against her and acknowledged the import of her disclosure with one soft kiss. Lucifer rested his forehead just above the center of the terrible scar for several minutes until he could feel her breathing settle, then clasped her firmly.

He stood, lifting her with him, and held her in a steadying embrace for a moment high off the ground, letting his strength seep in and bolster hers. Her arms snaked around his neck; silent thanks. Leaning over, he deposited her gently back on the couch and straightened up. She never stopped watching; a diminutive fire in a cloud of unfastened copper silk and glimpses of skin. She looked like a magical creature to him: a pinfeathered phoenix just rising from crumbles of ash, pure potential.

Lucifer backed up a step or two, just so she wouldn't have to crane her neck to see him. He pulled at his shirt, untucking it and unfastening the few buttons she hadn't. Throughout everything including their laughter and her silent yield of private hurt, his physical response to her had remained ardent, and he felt his sentiments beginning to chase his body harder; an unforeseen complication. Pushing that last thought out of his mind, he knew he was still so fully aware of her, and he wanted her to see him that way. The quick intake for breath from the couch let him know she had, and a smile curled the corners of his mouth. Turning slowly away from her, he unclasped his cufflinks, dropped his shirt down, and then off to crumple on the floor. This time Canaan's gasp was louder, and when he looked back over his shoulder, he saw that a hand had flown to her mouth. Her eyes held a sudden kindred sadness. He was beautiful, too, and for the same reasons she was – strength from trial. She thought the fine form of his lithe body was stunning, and the way the light reflected off the planes of it was extraordinarily lovely, as if luminosity itself was attracted to him. The only part of his skin not suffused with this ethereal glow were the knotted scars flaying their way down his spine spanning from the base of his neck to his lower back. Taking part in many spinal fusions, she was well aware of the incredible devastation of injury required for an aftermath such as this. He turned back to her, mobius comprehension flowing between them both. Sharing the titles of their stories was enough in the honesty of this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For those who choose not to read physically descriptive stuff: So, after a few stumbles, we see superficially what Canaan's been hiding – she has quite an impressive scar on her body, and a big part of her fear in revealing it (other than simple fear of rejection which anyone with a blatant flaw might reasonably have, especially to someone as clearly interested in appearances as Lucifer is) is that now she can't just continue to hide that part from him – or herself. By reciprocally showing her his scars, he is telling her (without actually telling her) that he might just understand after all. The other flaws on her are some surgical scars and 'tiger stripes' from pregnancy, though we know she's never mentioned family to him. And all right, like Maze's etiology (and her plus one AU/OC we'll meet later) obviously a huge change from canon – Lucifer's spinal scars represent the same thing they do on the show (although Canaan does not know this yet, obviously). But what his wings really are, what they're for and why he no longer has them is significantly different. This was actually one of the first kernels for the whole dang story in the first place ;-)


	15. Dance of a Different Sort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit. Very (and my first shot not only at fic, but writing this genre so I really hope it doesn't come off tacky). And (no intended allusion cast, truly) not too romant-icky either – both of these people are too mussed to get that right yet. If ever. Okay, so other than some input from Maze at the very beginning this is just basically them (finally) getting where they've recently been going, and suffice to say, they have a wonderful time. It's been over six months of covert familiarity (of which most has been in written form for them- here is where their 'in-person' communication gets a chance to catch up to that level). Yes, still keeping some big secrets, but they are otherwise unintentionally close individuals dealing with being rather caught out by this sudden additional facet to that. More complexities for/from these very different characters will ensue (shortly, actually) but not here. If reading physicality isn't for you the only major take-away from this is that whatever weird 'pull' Canaan has (that she isn't aware of) messes a bit with Lucifer's mojo. He's not too sure what to think of this, but at the moment, doesn't waste a lot of time on rationalizing either ;-)

[-]

The demon Mazikeen stalked the boundaries of her spacious apartment which opened on the other side of the elevator. Unlike Lucifer, who had in recent years spent more time away from bleating swirls of humanity, preferring more isolation in which to work out his snarls, Maze breathlessly embraced it. She relished the urban busy-ness, the feverous clang of superficial interaction: the seven basic sins and all their corresponding hues and facets. The time she spent with Amenadiel, whether for intentionally targeted reasons or simply their own was not without its challenges. The Devil found respite in silences to offset the increased disharmony of his mind…Maze needed that noxious buzzing to avoid thinking too deeply. She was thinking deeply now, and that, in addition to the subject matter irked her above all else. And she was not one to suffer unwillingly – fools or otherwise. With a sly grin waking, she made her decision and acted accordingly.

On the same floor, but divided by more than architecture Lucifer held out his hand for Canaan. She drew the loose fabric to herself, extended her other arm and placed her hand in his. He gently pulled her to her feet, leading her across the office to the doorway at the back. He held his free hand on the doorknob before turning it, inviting her.

"Will you come in with me?"

"Den of inequity? Or welcome retreat?" Teasing trace of scamp in her voice to lighten the mood.

"Yes." His warm smile expressed both gratitude for her fresh ingress of feeling, and anticipation of events to come.

"Why not? I mean, we're already in an appropriate state of dress for the occasion." Charmingly nefarious eye roll and shrug.

"Vixen!" With a quick arm around her waist he slid her close to him with a smirk as he opened the door.

Canaan had a momentary pang of apprehension as he reached to turn on a small lamp just inside the doorway. She had figured décor of bordello-red leather straps dangling from the ceiling over floor spikes or insipidly impersonal particleboard furnishings were equally probable. Or any kinky permutation thereof. She was pleased to see a perfectly normal room: small, but tastefully decorated in neutral colors. Finely-crafted furniture of simple design: a large bed with a trunk at the foot, nightstand, a small desk, low bookshelves full of diverse titles, bureau on the far wall and she could see a tiled floor through a half-open door – ensuite bathroom. A few beautiful suits and shirts hanging on a bar in a closet nook. A gorgeous classical painting adorned one wall. An exquisite rug that looked too expensive to tread upon covered most of the floor and a sweep of windows brought the jeweled lights of the city inside. He was watching her studious evaluation with an amused grin.

"Not what you were expecting, yes?"

"Not what I feared, no."

"I'm in town late often enough to warrant this, and I detest hotels." As he was speaking, Canaan realized she really knew so little about him, or his life – even what he did with himself most of the time. Discomfiting, yet so comfortably familiar. An echo of a dream. As the whole evening had already been so much more complex than she'd expected, she decided to shelve her curiosity for the moment and just be – another very out of character action. She mumbled something under her breath and he canted his head to hear.

"What was that now?"

"I said, 'I've decided to embrace a transient suspension of disbelief'". The fact that she was still so pragmatic tickled him. She was such a swirl of contradiction; a fascinatingly intricate puzzle of intelligent analyst and concealed passion – even to herself, Lucifer thought.

He shook his head incredulously and laughed again. Hearing the melodic sound as well as feeling it vibrating through her body soothed every raw edge save the earlier tension waked in her. Being this close to him, and held so strongly only fueled her mingled first-encounter nerves and anticipatory giddiness. He felt the slight shift in her breathing, and smiled to himself. He sat down on the bed, settling Canaan sideways on his lap.

"So, I think I'll join you in that little suspended bubble then, hmm? We'll escape for a bit, shall we?"

Her answer was a soft, sudden kiss. They sat quietly for a few moments, being gentle with each other. Canaan laid both her hands over his collarbones, fingertips gently stroking the quickening pulses in his neck. She was careful not to reach back too far and risk brushing his scars; both his and hers were a conversation for another time – maybe. 'Although if there was ever a candidate for a stellar one-off, this would be it.' she thought. Lucifer showed her the same respect; with his hands behind her back he caressed her from nape to waist, fingers drawing patterns of overlapping little rain-on-still-water circles across her skin where the silk tie of her dress stopped his progress. Her mouth opened against his in a small sigh at the sensation and he smiled.

"Devilishly delightful…" she whispered, and he grinned even wider.

"Quite perceptive." He chuckled a little bit at her quizzical look, but kept his expression haughtily enigmatic as he leaned to scoop up her legs to rest on the bed. With careful attention he slipped the delicately strapped heels from her feet and felt her whole body relax against him.

"Oh, I've wanted to do that alllllll night. I've been only a Dansko and sneaker girl forever."

He nuzzled into her neck as he massaged her feet, not sure which sensation was making her hum with pleasure, and not caring as he knew he was the source.

"You know, it's not terribly romantic to talk footwear." Shuffling his own off as he spoke.

"I wasn't aware we were doing romance?"

He ran a fingertip under her chin so she would raise her head and meet his eyes.

"Aren't we, though?"

His musing question seemed targeted to both, and she chose to answer it with a small smile and slightly raised eyebrows that he returned in kind. He held her face gently, and kissed the little curved lines at the corners of her mouth, feeling her hand come to rest again over his heart. This was such a simple, easy expression of affection, almost unconsciously done, but from a reticent person it meant a great deal to him - more than he expected. She twisted a bit on his lap, and he parted his knees for her to stand between them. This time it was Canaan who stepped back to open her hands to him. He enclosed hers and rose – she was so slight, and without her shoes even more so. He leaned over her, enveloping her in his arms and kissing her forehead. For a tenuous moment they lingered on the threshold, but the contact of his skin on hers and the respondent surge of butterflies stoked her restlessness. She ran her palms down his flanks, tracing her nails lightly after. The wave of rekindled tension flared instantly, sweeping down his body in the wake of her hands and made tinder of them both. With one of her palms low on his hip, pulling gently and the other on his belly, feeling the powerful muscles tighten underneath she kissed his chest, his rumbling growl of need sending an answering pang through her. When Canaan's hands swept in together to pull on his buckle, he exhaled sharply.

"Enough…I can't…"

Ignoring him, she opened her mouth to his chest, tonguing over him as she started to loosen the belt. He reflexively pressed against her, nearly knocking her off balance.

"Oh, this won't do." He swept her up, turning, one arm cradling her while the other hand made short work of the tie at the back of her dress. She was freed from her silk fetters, but still covered as he pulled the blankets down roughly to lay her back on the many pillows. He settled close beside her, one hand cupping the back of her neck, tilting, drenching her throat with greedy kisses. With the other he pulled her waist and as she turned into the embrace Canaan slid a leg between his, pressing him firmly against her stomach. Heavily full where she was soft and so close to where they both wanted him to be. He struggled unexpectedly to maintain parity, sliding his hand over the silky froth from her waist to her rear, pulling her harder. They rocked together, clenched tightly with only thin fabrics between. Very quickly, even that was too much separation.

Canaan pulled back reluctantly, but only so her hands could once more reach down and grasp his belt. He arched against her. She whipped a slim leg around him. Admonishment.

"Be still for five seconds or we'll never get you out of these. And that might actually be a tragedy."

"Hurry, please. And I'll try to occupy myself". With that he grazed both hands over her cheekbones, fingertips running over her hair and with plundering kisses drove the sense straight out of her head. Dizzy, she forced her nimble fingers to work quickly, freeing his belt and manipulating his clothes to unbutton, unzipper; a struggle for both as the feel of her hands moving over such a sensitive spot was sweet torture. Trap sprung, she took advantage of the access to explore him further. He felt her hand slip under his waistband to rest on his hip, nails digging gently in back and her thumb stroking lazy sweeps over the top of his thigh. Hearing the reciprocal susurration of 'cheeky sadist' in her ear just made her smile. She slid her hand down over his backside and gave him a little spank of appreciation.

"You sir, have a great ass."

"Have? Or am?

"Both. Definitively."

He pulled back from her a bit, leaning on one elbow, cheek in hand. She chuffed at the melody of expressions chasing themselves over his face as he tucked a few errant strands behind her ear.

"What am I to do with you?" Gravelly incredulous tone as he played with her earring.

"I've absolutely no idea. Somewhat concerning, actually." Her tone was still light and playful, but he could hear a small shade of wariness suffuse her words. Whatever demons she had were very much with her, although he admired her willingness to keep them leashed. Understanding self-inflicted torments all too well, he wanted no parts of adding to hers and chose a familiar course; charm well-spiced with intense focus. Lucifer let his beautiful voice deepen further into a raspy tease.

"Well now, let's just take it from the top then, hey?

Effortlessly he flipped her so her back was to him and buried his mouth at the juncture between her neck and shoulder. The surprising change of position made her gasp, the sudden vigorous sensation of tongue and teeth made her moan. He purred huskily at her ear, "More?" Even without her breathy 'yes', her body's shift to press back against him was answer enough. He draped a leg over her hip, keeping her securely clasped, one hand feeling the uneven flutter of her ribcage, the other gently pulling her braid aside to expose the sensitive skin at the back of her neck. They were both so overstimulated he didn't bother with coyness. Working his mouth against her skin, firmly kissing, tonguing, biting, sucking he moved down her neck and across the ridge of each shoulder blade, her every responsive flicker and sound goading him on. The construction of the wrap dress, even undone, meant that some parts of her were covered and others revealed. He played her senses like music, eloquent fingertips working fine muscles under bare skin here, heat of his body flooding through silk there. Even in their intensifying fervor, he did not want her to feel exposed before she was ready. However, he was more than. Well past. Nearly half a year's worth, come to think on it. Absurdly cloggish delay, really.

Trailing tongue and teeth down the center of her back, he quickly bent to shed his loosened clothes, welcoming the release of restriction. Magnificently naked, he rose to curve around her, snaking an arm around her waist to secure her tightly. She responded, curling against him, left arm pressed back to grip his body harder, fingertips digging into the muscle at his hip. He lay back, pulling her into a three-quarter lean on him that freed his hands to roam her without losing contact anywhere else. She tangled their lower legs together, tensing back against him. He dropped back to work the sensitive spot on the side of her neck and let his hands skim her body over the silk, gratified to feel her rise to press against them.

Concentrating on her was requiring even more focus than he was accustomed to as the silky twists and coils against his bare skin sternly threatened his composure. Finding the asymmetric open sides of the bodice, he ran his hands down her ribs, thumbs brushing against the outer swell of her breasts. Her responsive cry compelled him to surge against her, teeth bared unseen into her braid. The pressure of the tender curve of her silk-covered rear sliding against the harder aspects of his own body was reeling him and he wanted her, needed her to feel this as strongly as he did. He ran his hands back up from her waist, cupping both breasts under the material. He could feel her nipples turn diamond hard against his palms, and it stirred him even further. He teased the sensitive tips, spiraling her ever higher. Being careful to avoid her scar, he ran one hand slowly down, drawing tantalizing ellipses with his fingertips, teasing under the gossamer waistband just below her navel.

"More?" he asked quietly, the taunt only making her breath come faster. "Shall we lose these lovely knickers then?" He was delighted to hear a giggle through her gasps and took the opportunity to press his hand firmly to give one cheek an approving squeeze so he could hear that rare laugh again before helping her wriggle free. When she reached back to touch him he stopped her gently. Mouth against her ear he whispered, "I am already here, and I want you with me. Let me bring you…"

Sweeping his hand across her belly he felt her muscles tense and quiver under the warmth of his palm. Long, perceptive fingers dipped lower, tracing fire through her body. As he had earlier, she laid her hand over his, guiding him. The invitation was all he had been waiting for, and he swept his hand down, cupping, drawing her back firmly to him. With keen attention he set to discover her body's most intimate responses. Thumb lightly circling over her exquisitely sensitive node, he slipped two long fingers inside, curving them gently to find where her most reactive areas lay within. It had been so long since she'd been touched like this his ministrations took her breath away. Unconsciously extending her upper body in a slow arc, Canaan felt him reach deeper and pull her harder against the solid heat at her back. Losing herself to the intense sensations he seemed so effortlessly drawing from her.

Feeling her react to him so powerfully nearly sent Lucifer over the edge right then, throwing his control in disarray. It was just something about her: strength of that pull she had, the unexpected rawness under her polished exterior – feeling her start to relinquish some of her own barricades seemed to be eroding his as well – such a strangely fascinating experience. And it was nearly doing him in. Gritting his teeth, he stroked until he could feel her begin to buck against his hand, her breathing coming in the same soft whimpers he could feel echoing deep within himself as she moved against him. Trying to keep the strain from his voice as he asked softly, "Are you ready for me?"

One of her arms flashed out and clenched his, twisting her body toward him, the other hand tearing the fabric she was tangled in away to press herself against him dangerously, skin to skin. It wasn't enough assent for him; he needed to know she was clear enough to have no regrets later. However, for being slight she was very strong; deftly maneuvering herself right up against him, pulling his hip hard to lean on top of her. Again, his body nearly betrayed him. Profoundly shocked, fighting with himself, he caught her chin in his fingertips, looking at her in amazement. "Canaan..."

"Yes." It wasn't a question, it was an answer. And the piercing clarity in her eyes and the power in which she held him in her gaze were all he needed. Adjusting together, beyond ready. She guided him, charged to feel copious slickness on the thick tip, the evidence of difficult patience. Curving legs around his to pull closer, hands running down both his flanks to grasp his hips, arching up further in needful welcome. She had been slightly cagy; this aspect of him being as impressive as the rest. But he was right about the introduction; he did it well. Easing into her, heavy, so hard, gradually pressing deeper as she moaned acceptance. He growled in vindicated relief as he finally sank completely, extended ache embraced in her warm tension. For a brief second both of them went still, pressing against their limits, but the incessant demands of their bodies were too great to linger. Pulling back just as slowly, hearing the hunger in her voice as the soft ridge of his head teased the lovely, lucky spot he'd found within and had always considered magic in a woman. A few more gradually twisting strokes over it had her crushing his legs with hers and the strong arch of her body lifting them well off the bed as she keened his name. He felt his own throb more insistently in response. Oh yes…when he'd pulled her close in the music tonight this was how he had wanted to feel her. From the inside out and back again. Free. Wild. As he was. No longer restrained, Lucifer ran his arms underneath her, one palm cradling her head, the other at the small of her back. Falling to her as she rose to meet him. Moving in unifying waves faster, harder, both giving themselves over completely to the powerful sensations driving through them…Canaan crested just before Lucifer did; feeling her fly into dissolution launched him through his own climax with a degree of wanton abandon he had not felt in a very long time. Normally quite vocal in play, Lucifer was quiet; his only response for her soft cries at his ear a deep kiss to her throat.

They slowly relaxed as the resonations faded into satiated warmth. Certain he was crushing her Lucifer began to rise on his elbows and was surprised to feel small, strong arms pulling him back down.

"No. Don't move."

"Love, (what did he just hear himself say?) I am going to squash you like an overripe tomato."

"No."

"But..."

"I said NO. Let us yet have this." It wasn't a petulant demand, or an order, simply a quiet assertion. And for reasons he could not fathom her statement reeled through him. His response was to lean them slightly to the side, press her closer, and plant a kiss on the lonely altar of her right temple. And he couldn't have known it, because she certainly hadn't herself, but that was exactly what she needed at that precise moment.


	16. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because it's good doesn't mean it's easy. Some more explicit stuffs (Lucifer reminds us he 'has tremendous stamina', so…), but basically, this is them trying to make rapid adjustments to themselves and each other - learning on the fly. And as we know, neither have wings.

[ - ]

After a few moments of sheltering under him, Canaan began to feel as if she were finally coming back to herself. Curled against his chest, she could feel his heartbeat begin to steady and slow with hers; this unexpected intimacy so strange, so beautifully rare. Not for him, she was sure, but for her. Suddenly feeling foolish at that thought she began to twist out of his hold.

"Mmmm, no…where do you think you're off to then?"

"Am I not allowed up to visit your bathroom?"

"Only so long as you hurry back." She made a non-committal noise, not sure if she felt cosseted or patronized. Slipping away from him she quickly reached over to grab a small throw blanket he'd kicked to the bottom of the bed. Wrapping herself hastily she strode across the room, toes sinking into the rich, plush carpet. The sensual amusement in his voice laved her even at a distance. "Sinful to cover that up…" He smirked at the flippantly dismissive wave of her hand as she disappeared behind the door. Shutting it firmly and pressing her back against it she took a deep breath and tried to reorient herself. Brain cells AAOx3, right? Just. How. Did. This. Happen? She caught a glimpse of herself in the sink mirror – rosy cheeks, high shine to her eyes, and some long tendrils loosed from her braid curling down past her shoulders. Emerald green blanket clutched tightly to her neck as if it would make her any less bare underneath. Definitely not her normal Friday evening of blood or books. After cleaning up a bit and splashing some water on her face she took a few moments to regain some equilibrium.

Which she promptly lost as soon as she opened the door. Lucifer was leaning on the wall just outside, arms crossed, tremendously naked and grinning. "Thought I was going to need a search party for you. What were you doing in there?" Actually rendered speechless by the image and presence in front of her, she simply gave his backside a sharp slap as she walked past. "Naughty! Wouldn't have thought..." was the gentle jeer she earned.

As soon as the door was closed she threw off the blanket and tried to get dressed quickly. Listening to him talk at her through the door about 'shame I don't smoke anymore – lighter issues, you understand, quite odd – as that certainly deserves an afterpuff…or another go…mmm, thoughts on that, darling? *cue filthy laugh*.' Unfortunately the scavenger hunt for her panties and reapproximating complicated eveningwear was not conducive to a hurried getaway. After a quick search she gave up on her underwear (trying not to imagine how often that had happened here before considering Lucifer's libidinous status) and had barely begun to line up the clearlytoomanybuttons on the bodice when she heard the door opening.

"What are you doing?" There was no trace of play in his voice, and it was that tone which caught her attention. She was however, still very much on guard and redoubled her efforts on putting herself back together.

"What does it look like? I'm getting dressed – albeit a bit unsuccessfully. You can add my 'knickers' to your trophy collection…I can't find where you tossed them." His silence was so deafening she had to look up. His dark eyes were wide with pensive hurt.

"What are you on about? I've never brought anyone in here."

"Come on…you've got to be kidding me. The guy whose reputation for ostentatious sex is legendary? Where wouldn't you do it? Or with whom?" She was parrying to protect herself, not to deliberately wound him, but she could see her words were landing hard. That confused her.

"Yes, I enjoy sex. Among many other things. No, I have never brought anyone in here before you. This is my private space. I've told you I don't speak falsely. What reason have I given you to believe I'm deceitful now?"

Canaan honestly didn't know what to say. He certainly didn't look like he was lying, but she felt so off-kilter she was certain her limited ability to read him correctly was way off. She just shook her head.

He was thrown. Hard. And fearfully angry about it. At himself for falling into that ridiculous human trap of mooning about after, like some child in fear of abandonment. He wanted to bite into her with the pull of his voice…but was suddenly afraid of what he might hear. So, this was not to be as simple as he'd hoped. Still…

"Is that what you think, then? Hey? Was it just a nothing toss to you after all?" Something barely hidden in his questions warned her to be gently prudent; not for her sake, but his. Honesty had never been a problem for her, and wasn't now. Choosing silence or non-committal dross as she usually did when interacting with people only meant she was selective with what she shared, not that it was false when she did. And for reasons she could not explain, she felt he needed truth. From her. Looking at him carefully, she placed a hand over the tangle of silk where her scar began underneath.

"No one has ever seen me like this, as we were." Her words were frank and raw, and all she was capable of offering him at the moment.

Oh…so very many things explained in one short sentence. It was enough. More than. The openness in which she shared this and the willingness to do so moved him; easing the unexpected pain he'd felt when she was pushing him away. He closed the distance between them quickly, coming to sit beside her. He gently brushed his hand along her cheek and she leaned into his palm and closed her eyes.

"Thank you." Not for the sex, but the trust – he hoped she understood him.

Canaan opened her eyes. She'd understood perfectly. "You're welcome."

She must have some unfamiliar hue of innate power to her. He could feel it bleeding away and enveloping him though her gaze, the strength of it even more profoundly disquieting as the release seemed completely unintentional. He found it incredible that she could mask this most of the time, and was disturbed at how easily she rendered him off balance. As he was now, so sensitive to her and still stinging from her feints. She cracked at his façades without even trying, it seemed. Mystifying. And very attractive to the broad, intrepid streak within his character…too soon, but not soon enough. He'd shown patience; with her and himself as well. Unleashed, now he was pure desire. His voice was low as he spoke.

"I want you."

Her eyes darkened and lips parted as his own had. She met his candor openly.

"I'm here."

"For how long?" His other hand coming to rest on hers holding the silk of her dress closed.

"For now." Both shedding the soft material off her together.

"I'll welcome what you offer." Hearing the quiet acceptance in those gentle words from such an intense person touched her unexpectedly. The rational part of her could not see how all of this was possibly transpiring, but she suddenly didn't care. She felt still and watchful, and in an odd way, peaceful. Not the peace of calmness, but the peace of knowing she was right where she should be in this particular moment. She sensed he felt similarly and that was enough. Canaan watched as he leaned to turn off the bedside lamp. With the small warm glow extinguished, only the cool, bejeweled lights of the city and the rising moon flooded through the windows. Lucifer sat back against the piles of soft pillows at the head of the bed. He reached out his hands to her, a solemnly expectant expression on his face. It was her turn to feel suddenly precarious. She paused, holding her palms out in front of her briefly – not a rejection, a warning. He'd probably guessed, but she had to hear herself say it.

"I'm not…" He just kept looking at her: no judgment, no hurry. She struggled with what she wanted to express to him. She settled for, "… not whole." One hand gesturing over her scar and implying more than her body. "Not…good." The small break in her voice cut him on its raw edges. Lucifer understood; with some of her defenses down the others were cracking to cover in adjustment: tectonic plates of armor dealing with unaccustomed strain. And understood personally as well. He did not speak; sometimes there are no words that can soothe as touch can. He reached further for her hands and clasped them to bring her close. He could feel her trembling, tethers loosed. He grasped her small frame and lifted her over him; this damaged dancer relying on the long habits of lonely strength newly adjusting to a partner. He held her easily, securely just above where he was waiting. He gazed up at her face, shadowed except for the worry-glossed shine in her eyes. Repeating with care what he needed her to hear.

"I want you. So badly." Lowering her slowly onto himself. Feeling her body's warmth yielding to the insistence of his. Filling her as if this is what they'd been made for. He could feel the relief passing through Canaan like waves through water. She collapsed to him, arms winding around his neck, warm breath at his ear. He cradled her with himself, legs under, arms over and strong anchor within, barely moving yet, just so cognizant of one another.

"You feel wonderful." The darkness and his imperturbability were allowing her to adjust and recover. Stroking his rough cheek with her fingertips. Whispering to him, "So beautiful."

"I was." Slight edge to his voice. She could feel his own pain glimmering out through the cracks as hers had. She gave freely of the same patience and mercy he'd shown her.

"I've been witness to miracle and tragedy. Personally and professionally." Her voice was soft but strong, ringing true, sounding over unexpected depths in the forlorn darkness within him. "I think you're both, and that is what makes you beautiful to me." He closed his eyes and smiled, small but real. Canaan found his eased expression too much to resist; she ran her fingertips over his mouth. As his lips parted she met him in a kiss, deepening it as she felt him splay his hands on her lower back. Holding her steady as he began to move under and inside her.

"So good…oh..." She arched against him and tilted her head back, exposing her throat to his teeth. The hunter in him quickened at what she was offering and he accepted, closing his jaws over the pulses in her neck, suction and sharpness in his manipulations driving her higher. "Ah…more…" He smiled against her skin at her using his word. As before her responses incited him; not just the pleasure of a willing body but of her, Canaan's own specific reactions to his touch. She was pulling at him in so many unexpected ways and he reveled in the novelty.

Their movements were strong and unhurried. Their first time had been glorious release of long-standing tensions; here they were studying each other. Gentle questions and answers, encouragements, parleys, shared laughter…all that is wonderful about two willingly learning new intimacy together. After a particularly successful trick of her hips Canaan saw him struggling to hold on. She kept at him, shattering his controls as he tried to recover.

"No, not yet…with you..."

Feeling a bit predatory herself, she leaned in to him, relentless, the hunger in her voice blistering his senses, "I want to watch you fly. Let me take you – come for me…come now."

Unexpectedly broken wide open by both her words and her physical persuasions Lucifer did let go, falling away into simple, pure ecstasy. Gleefully observing the freedom in his release and prolonging it with soft murmurs and touches gave her incredible satisfaction to see how affected he was and to know her part in his pleasure. Shudders finally subsiding, Lucifer caught her hands and stilled her. He'd barely kept even a few energetic blocks complete…she was delicious treachery: and had no bloody idea.

His breath still catching, "Magic creature…"

"Hmm…just a happy one." She smiled at him, eyes glittering.

"Oh, you shall be." With a wicked grin and glint he deftly he flipped her over on her side and brought his talented hands to work, one over her breasts and the other dipping between her legs, playing with all the gentler ways he knew could please her. Now he spoke, and the caress of his voice was nearly as titillating as those from his body. Intact, his barriers let him know what she was feeling, and his description of the incredible sensations he was eliciting drove her to the brink of sensual madness. Feeling the low rumble of his voice at her ear kept her there. The onslaught was overwhelming and since he was just off his own climax she could still feel him full as she pressed against him. Her mind and body yielded in euphoric surrender as he took her streaking over the edge, teasing at her all the way down until she pleaded clemency. They both still struggled for breath as he reached down to pull a soft blanket up over them as he curled himself around her back. Sheltered, recovering, sated and content for the moment in body and spirit both.

"Holy…pope on a pumpernickel pancake, Lucifer." He chuckled to hear what the experience had done to her vocabulary.

"Scandalous, but wholly holy indeed, darling."

They were quiet for a time afterwards, just processing the very rapid changes the evening had brought to their status quo. Simply enjoying some sated peace as well. Canaan was the one to eventually break the easy silence.

"Interesting choice…"

"You may need to be more specific. I feel we've covered rather a lot in a short amount of time." She could hear the grin in his voice as he nuzzled the back of her neck.

"Bad!" Reproving finger flick on his shoulder.

"Ow. On very rare occasion…though I don't believe this was one of them." Shining teeth in this smile.

"No, incorrigible man – your Titian. 'Sacred and Profane Love'…interesting. And beautiful. This is an excellent version of the real thing." Canaan felt him shift behind her, and glanced over her shoulder at the owner before she let the piece captivate her once more. He had amended his position to bend his left elbow and rest his chin on his hand, thoughtful expression on his face. Lucifer draped his right arm over hers and with absent-minded fingers played with the few fine waves of hair that had come loose from her braids. The easy feeling was idyllic and she basked in it. Until he spoke…

"You've a passing acquaintance with some art then?"

"Not sure if I should be complimented or annoyed at the surprise in your voice."

"The former."

"What, you think all medical people are culturally anemic left-brained automatons?"

"No need to snoot. It's been my experience that certain…sorts…of human specializations simply don't tend to overlap with others." Canaan's left eyebrow twitched at the way he used the word 'human'. Again, it was just a bit off…and now she realized what had been niggling at her with some of his phrases – it was if he were not including himself. She must be overtired; that was a ridiculous thing to think.

"People aren't Venn diagrams, Lucifer. This isn't Abbott's Flatland. Most are far more tertiarily complex than 2-D representations, anyway - overlapping or otherwise." He was certainly finding this to be intrinsically so of his present company.

"Right, right, clustered knickers not required, absent or otherwise. Rascal!" He reacted to her small retaliatory pinch. "Yes. The work…and the title…both 'spoke to me', you could say. And what about you?" He was reluctant to give away too much too soon, either openly or winnowed out by her assessment skills. She used language on ideas as she did her surgical tools on broken bodies; to identify and excise erroneous processes and fashion new growth from repair. In addition, she seemed to have an uncanny knack for recognizing connections between disparate elements – a skill set he esteemed as he had it himself. However, he found it currently dangerous in her. After this evening he was even more intrigued, but his caution had increased exponentially as well. For her part Canaan felt she was not in a position - literally at the moment - to press on anything too conflicting. It had already been a more than peculiar night and she opted for simplicity.

"Well, a great deal does. Like we've written. Creation in all forms." She felt him startle a bit, but let it pass. "Art, literature - clearly you understand this…" gesturing at his bookshelves, "…philosophy, architecture, sculpture, music…I enjoy all sorts of things, and even if I do not 'like' some piece on a personal level I can tell quality from fluff. Although fluff can be fun – not everything needs to be sodamnserious ALL the time. One of the reasons plain old art school would have never worked out. Too much manufactured angst."

He had been smiling to himself as she spoke – he had a vibrant appreciation for a good bit of fun as well; especially in the face of seriousness. Until very recently Lucifer wouldn't have pegged her for a viewpoint congruent to his. However those last statements made him pause. "You're not an artist?"

"Everyone is." She felt him cringe – why? "Just the mediums vary. Most people start out embracing it – look at the living imagination within the play of children. Unfortunately most people also get it beaten out of them, or repressed quite young. Stunted into mere vestiges of appreciation. A shame." She again felt him wince. So puzzling…

Canaan was wrong. Not all intelligence was creative. Most not, actually. And even if it was…it often wasn't allowed. And disobedience had consequences.

She waved a hand at the painting. "This is beautiful, but I'm more of an El Greco girl myself, as far as classic masters go."

"Really. Why?" Lucifer was grateful she wasn't interrogating his reactions…although he could not be sure she wasn't laying small traps for him, either. What a strange thought that was.

"Well, for example the interplay of composition in his View of Toledo. Solid and ethereal, vibrancy in color and negation of space, light and dark - I viscerally enjoy juxtaposition; it makes the elements of each component all the more spectacular when they dance with contrast." This time she not only felt him react, but could suddenly sense a pall of oppressing tension…and fear? Hurt as well? He was truly disturbed and she had no idea why. Perplexed and anxious to dilute the strain, she stumbled over her thoughts trying to extricate them with some levity.

Lucifer's jaw clenched. She was wrong again. Too simplistic a viewpoint. Too human. There were grades of darkness. The first was pregnant with possibility: the raw precursors to the light of creation. The second was what came into existence in the vacuum created through his fall…leaching power from the pain of separation. Pain from both sides. Dangerous and opportunistic, that dark was. And instinctually, insatiably hungry. Never enough pain to feed on, not even circling near him in Hell and beyond.

Despite his discomfort and apprehension about her discovering more than he was willing to share, he could not help himself. Voice of light reflecting over dark, unsettled waters. "I notice you've not mentioned religion in your areas of interest…"

Now it was her turn for unease. "Huh. I find reading about them can be thought-provoking; it can also help me understand where certain patients are coming from. I do agree with aspects of some over others…but I'm not a fan of dogma. And besides, who of us can know the mind of God? What an exercise in futility that is." Her last phrase was equal parts anger and awed frustration, so thinly veiled under a clipped affect. He staggered under the tremendous weight of her words. He completely understood her feeling even if her reasons for it were obscured. Lucifer pressed her shoulder back so she would look at him. He spoke slowly, and with great seriousness.

"Who are you…really?"

She said the first thing that came to her head; unbidden, succinct words. Sacrosanct words.

"As you are. Cast-off survivor getting by as I can."

He just looked at her a long time in silence after her statement. There was bald truth in it. For both of them he felt correctly, and it showed a fair amount of unexpected intuition. Canaan was lying flat on her back, hands under her head staring at the ceiling. Her own musing expression matched his. Her words seemed to be equally surprising to the speaker as was for the listener. Odd, that. He decided the time was good as any to broach another precarious topic. He gesticulated with one hand just over where the light blanket covered the beginning of her scar.

"So this…"

Her eyes hardened, still staring straight up at the ceiling. "No. I'm not discussing it."

He was silent, but felt anger building again; not at her, but for her. Feeling the sudden predatory tension snaking through him, Canaan belatedly realized what he was probably thinking.

"Lucifer, it's not from…" hard exhale here. Starting over. "No one did this to me. In a way, I did it to myself. And don't ask…please. I just can't tell that story. Not now." They both heard what she didn't say, 'maybe not ever'.

Well, so there was 'more' then. And she'd shelved that topic just like she did everything else she considered dangerous. As he did now himself, so...'pot/kettle'. Fine. But still, he should know this…

"Does it bring you pain?"

She looked over at him, relieved he hadn't pressed the issue. "Not anymore. Rather numb, actually. It's not uncommon when the degree of injury is severe. Some nerve damage is permanent." He found it disquieting that Canaan was speaking with such clinical dissociation, as if the injury happened to someone other than her. Lucifer suddenly realized that this was exactly how she thought of it when she had to, and this was the likely candidate for why she had altered her identity. Such a schism to choose for one's self. He wondered how deeply the rift went.

Her voice softened. "How about yours?"

"As if fresh." He was unwilling to elaborate further as well, but at least he knew she would not press him on it, having some significantly-targeted empathy. Quite a pair they made...strange thought though it was. And stranger action on his part…allowing her to even see his own; still not completely certain why. The appearance of his scars were something he could hide if he chose and usually did, and the fact that he had not with her was…still a bit of a mystery to him. The concept of true vulnerability was still a sore subject, but after the clearly painful reveal that she had no choice in hiding - it had just been an intense impulse to follow suit. Lucifer hoped he would not come to regret it later.

Her brows knitted together. "I'm sorry to hear. Healing from injury can be so inexplicable, sometimes. It's incredible you're not impaired." She watched a strangely distant expression cross his face. He was thinking, 'If you only knew what I had been, you could not say this'. She reached out a hand to stroke his cheek, and the care in the little caress soothed him.

"So, what happens now?" He left his voice deliberately light.

She turned to him with a small smile.

"Now I go home. I'm on call in a few hours and sleep would probably be a good idea."

He drew a fingertip over each of her eyebrows. "You could stay here – it's likely closer than wherever you disappear to." She hooded her eyes. It was tempting. She recognized that he was offering her access to his space, and himself – access he apparently did not often grant. It was borne out of what they had just shared, but too soon. She let them both off easy. "Thank you. But this," with a smile, she ran fingers over his lower belly, curling them to watch his eyes flash suggestively and uncover that smirk she relished "…is far too great a temptation. And I've got to go home and change…if I'm called in with this outfit on the whole mess'll be over by the time I'm free of the buttons. Besides, people might talk."

"So? Let them." Here he sounded slightly belligerent. He'd thought they were moving past that.

She sat up. "No, Lucifer."

"No, what?" Definitely belligerent.

She rose and turned to him as she gathered her dress up. "Just no. You know I don't welcome other people's opinions on matters I consider private. Bad enough I irritated your assistant – or whatever she is." She walked to the bathroom, hearing the stridor in his voice following her.

"Why do you care about what others may say or think? I certainly don't." Never had. And look where that got him. Yet again. Sonofabitch.

Canaan sighed. 'Because you're stronger than I. Not broken.' she mused to herself sadly. It was the third significant thing she was in error in over this night. She leaned her head out of the door, watching his irritation escalate as her fingers fumbled with the buttons. 'Too many of these damn things', she thought, 'chance for a clean break is dwindling'. He was sitting up cross-legged on the bed, blankets pooled in his lap, hair mussed and fire in his eyes. She walked back over to sit beside him, pulling on her shoes. He held himself slightly away from her, angry and hurt. Again. Lucifer seethed. This was bloody painful. How dare she make him feel like this?

She touched his arm and he flinched. She sighed again, "It's not you..."

Canaan thought it looked like he was going to spontaneously combust as he snapped out, "You're not serious. The 'it's not you it's me' spiel? Surely you're joking."

"I'm not." She had no idea why he was acting this way. Speaking to him more firmly, "It's important to me. I'm not rejecting you and I'm certainly not regretful – yet." The last word was a threatened preemptive strike in answer to the baleful glare he had leveled at her during the last sentence.

He fumed silently at a moment longer, then dropped his gaze. "I don't understand…" He suddenly looked lost. She began to appreciate the degree in which dismissal or rejection must have hammered him at some point. Perhaps several? Any little echo seemed to recall it. She stroked his beautiful hands gently and after a short time he relaxed enough for her to clasp them. Wanting honesty between them, she spoke with caution.

"I don't understand yet what this is, if this is, nor do you." The last three words were directed at the frustration rising in him again. "If we're going to let ourselves find out, don't you think things are odd-ducked enough without dealing with anyone or anything else? And haven't we been a little 'clandestine' all along? Nothing changes…well…some things, maybe." She added a spice of warm tease to her voice, hoping he'd respond to it.

He closed his eyes and exhaled very slowly. She was right, but temperance wasn't an easy part of his nature for him to manage. When he reopened them she saw Lucifer-her-partner-in-passion before her again, not the wounded soul who had lashed out. She pressed his hands gently. "I don't want to hurt you. But I won't lie to you to make things superficially easy, either. I'd not want the same, 'hey'." Her words and little mimic of his accent softened his expression further. He was just such a beautiful blend of strength and sensitivity: she wondered how anyone could have ever spurned him harshly enough to cause such terrible wounds.

"All right."

"All right?"

"Yes…go, then. Scamper off if you must. I'm quite fine."

"You so are. The finest I've seen in a very long time." The quick admission of her own voice surprised her. What surprised him even more than her words was the unpretentious delight shining through her facial expression and tone. Even though he hadn't seen it very often, the shine of happiness looked far more natural on her than the closed-off, watchful clinician's mask. And he'd put that there. Well. That was a satisfying thought. She didn't even look back at him as she left, just waved as she closed his door, picked her bag and wrap up on the way through the office and headed toward the elevator. Lucifer stayed awake for a long time after she'd gone, making due with braided contentment and consternation. For Canaan, who had simply been looking forward to the drive home to clear her thoughts, the confusion would uptick significantly downstairs.


	17. Girls' Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IMHO, Maze is a complete and total badass. I love her on the show (and hope to see more developed interactions with her and characters other than Lucifer). Now, having said that, she's changing…developing more, but her inner streak is still all up for some independent mayhem (more on way). Now words are in the arsenal, too. Speaking of, some profanity. Canaan has a 'sailor streak' when stressed.

[-]

"What is it that you think you're doing exactly?"

The scathing voice came from the shadows between the dual sets of heavy glass exit doors. Not wanting to risk being seen by any late partygoers, Canaan had avoided the end of the building where she could still hear music flooding the down the stairwells. Hoping for a quick, quiet exit to walk the few blocks back to where her car was waiting in the hospital garage. Drives always helped to clear her head and tonight was a rather outstanding example of when that would be a stupendous idea.

She really didn't feel like adding anything else into the mix. Car ride home was only so long.

She kept moving, the cool night air welcome. Seasons were changing.

Weren't they, though?!

The voice following her however, was the same. Strong. Feminine. Angry. Angrier, actually.

And so not her problem.

"I said, I asked you a question."

Sigh. Why did the blatantly beautiful women always seem to be crazy?

The woman had followed just behind her for half a block. Few people were out on the streets, and while Canaan did not feel particularly threatened, she didn't feel like leading this loon right to her car, either. All she needed was to come out from work one night to find her tires slashed or paint keyed. She decided to give her tagalong one more chance to shove off on her own volition, and increased her pace. 'Drop back, drop back, there's a good nutjob…'

Her mental mantra didn't work, unfortunately.

Polished talons gripped her elbow.

Mistake.

Canaan didn't deal well with restraint of any sort, much less from unknown irritants. She shook the woman off and when the grip was reapplied whipped around and straight-armed her in the chest, taking three fast steps forward and on the third sweeping a foot around her assailant's ankle. Or as best she could in these fucking heels. Anyway, ass - meet dirt.

Not exactly. Maze barely stumbled. More in surprise than from anything else, really. From her investigative observations this human was so otherwise a taciturn mouse: another reason Maze could not understand Lucifer's interest. The demon chuckled, watching the human move away.

"Back off." Flat affect, no heat, four retreating strides to give the Pretty Crazy space, and maybe a little time to think clearly. Hand laying on a small zippered compartment on the outside of her duffel bag.

Canaan didn't realize that her eyes had lit, and Maze barely had a chance to register the strange gleam. Trick of the light, she supposed.

The demon started openly laughing. Cruelly, true, but this was more entertainment than she'd expected from this particular flesh sack. She moved slowly, brushing sidewalk dust off her long leather skirt where she'd felt Canaan ankle her.

"Well…you are more interesting than I'd thought. How much more I wonder?"

"Don't bother yourself. I'm a closed book and you look illiterate anyway."

Maze laughed again, a sick, slow chuckling farce. "Just answer my question. Then I'll let you be. For now."

"Fantastic. And I'm supposed to believe that or care, because…?"

"Because I don't lie."

Jesus Christ, must be a company mantra. Too bad, first strike taken by NutJob so first question was hers.

"Riddle me this…why do you care what he does? Are you married to him?"

"No." More amused scoffing.

"Okay. Are you in some sort of established relationship?"

Maze started wiping tears away she was laughing so hard. This puny human was trying to logic her way through this. Hysterical! "Not one you'd understand."

"Terrific. So then, I'm fairly certain we're done here. I know I am. Something to add? From where you're standing." Canaan had seen Mazikeen take a slow step toward her. Her fingers unzipped the outside pocket of the bag and she slipped a hand in, making sure the dark woman saw her do it.

The demon stopped laughing and began to simply smile. Unpleasantly.

"Well...since you asked, so very nicely…" here Mazikeen's sharp smile gleamed wider. "…I'll just say you're simply a shiny new toy. And new toys tend to be cheap and break easily. It won't end well, so why bother?"

"Your opinion noted. Thanks for sharing, I'm sure you'll sleep much better knowing you got that off your perky chest."

Maze took one more step, the smile becoming closer akin to a sharp-toothed grimace. Animalistic, almost. Canaan's fingers tightened on what lay in the pocket, finger on the safety lock of the syringe cap. Being wearily familiar with their mayhem from her job, she could not quite bring herself to carry a gun, but after Saul she'd decided to have some 'medical defense' on board.

A sudden, sharp burst of air caught her attention and she saw the woman turn, her expression changing. Canaan followed her line of sight, but saw nothing. When she turned her head back, the dark woman was gone. Okay…that was…fucking weird. They had been standing in the middle of a side alley along the street, but even so, there weren't many places she could've hidden; at least close by.

Quite odd. Like the rest of this whole evening. Shelving it, just as she'd been silently accused of earlier Canaan walked further into darkness. Screw thinking on the way; she just wanted to get behind the wheel and go.

"Mazikeen. What were you doing?"

The pair were sequestered on a nearby rooftop, watching the human below stalking off and shaking her head.

"Whatever I wish. No concern of yours, Amenadiel." Putting the same upbraiding emphasis on his name as he had for hers. She was no angel, but wasn't to be trifled with, either.

"This human is one of many, I'm sure. It's what he does." Amenadiel had a hard time understanding his brother's lascivious and abundant recreational tastes…granted, he'd only been with (and was only interested in) the conundrum before him, but he was endlessly intrigued by her. As she was, and as she could be. He could not imagine diluting that to include others.

Even if she did drive him to the brink of distraction. As now, watching her fume.

"Not as much, lately."

"Because of her?" Surprised, a little worried. Lucifer had gone down that path briefly before to no good end. Twice.

"No…I don't know." Sighing. Continuing more quietly. "He's less…here. Less engaged. More in his head, if you can imagine that….and not as willing to confide in me. Again. Other than those ridiculous projects which he keeps trying to rope me into! Asinine. And all that makes everything else more…of a challenge in the daily grind." While not a pair for heart-to-heart fireside chats over hot chocolate and marshmallows, Maze and Lucifer were usually very close. And she could use someone to bounce her own issues off. Or at least feel as if she could. Looking at her biggest stumbling block sitting on the roof ledge in front of her.

She wasn't a stumbler. Usually. So frustrating. And not in the good way.

"What does God want with him here anyway? Before, he wouldn't leave. Now he can't – which means I can't."

Amenadiel's eyes lowered slightly. "Do you really want to?"

"Yes. No." Sighing again in pique. "I don't know! I'm not one for introspection and this all is…"

"Confusing? Annoying?"

"Yes!"

"I do understand that, Maze." A golden-eyed, brilliantly gleaming white smile washed her.

She relaxed enough to smile back at him. "Yes, you probably do, don't you? Bad angel. Come here and accept your punishment."

Amenadiel's smile was no longer entirely pristine.

Good. About time something went her way this evening.


	18. About Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some weeks later we catch up to find Maze still ain't thrilled with things, but the other two are enjoying themselves and their bit of extracurricularness, though still trying to figure out a bit what that actually means. Or should. Lucifer himself gives Maze an idea she'll act on quite soon, and we all know subtlety isn't her forte.

[ - ]

Despite Lucifer's initial reticence about still keeping a lid on things - (within reason after all; he hadn't planned on trumpeting anything from rooftops: just didn't want to always second-guess his impulsive inclinations. Especially when he could now express more of them: he'd never been accused of not being creative) – any road, it was all….rather fun. Sneaking around was fun. Little naughty messages of adorable nastiness to send were fun, although he'd been violently threatened when accidently sending a few to her work email so he supposed he'd better watch himself under the influence of, um, enthusiasm (though he was a bit inclined to press on just to see what she'd come up with in way of retribution). So far she'd refused his requests for some from her as well as visual reminders… 'Are you literally out of your ever-loving mind?' was the mildest response he'd gotten as yet to those queries, but he felt no such compunction so…flushed cheeks, little smiles and virulent tappings of 'delete' were cropping up on Canaan at inopportune times. Board meetings, for example were a particular favorite since she was just down the table from him and he could see her reactions. Tremendous fun, indeed. So no, Lucifer wasn't entirely displeased about how things were going recently. Other than 'more' would be nice.

And if he was honest with himself, it wasn't just the physical additions. She'd changed. Well, at least with him she had, not that he hadn't enjoyed himself before…but now?

Canaan smiled a lot more. Laughed too, more than occasionally – it was a great one; couldn't imagine how he'd gone so long without it. Couldn't imagine how she had, really. She was still mostly mere buttoned-up pleasantness around other people, but now he got that laugh. That ease of expression that lit him up when they were alone like…well. It just did. And it was like she'd been unlocked in other ways too; a mischievous co-conspirator of splendidly tremendous, ridiculously giddifying, heart-pounding, can't-sleep-but-don't-care ways. All for and with him. He'd never, not in all his eons, have pegged this human to have this much under wraps.

And that other thing she did, without even knowing. That pull…that weirdly fascinating eddy he found himself swept into on a regular basis. Interesting. Unusual. And yes, it made physical expression a hoot, but it was more. When she talked with him, wrote to him, chastised him even…he just couldn't help tilting into it all. Didn't want to help it, either. Spun for a loop he was, and for the first time in a while, just let himself enjoy it. Although…

"Why don't you ask me about other people?" Eyebrows kinking at he observed her rapid inhalation of then immediate progression to choking on a rather unladylike sized bite of lasagna. These inconsistently scheduled long night shifts were ridiculously hampering – for his whims and apparently her stomach, too. And who on earth would eat lasagna at nine-thirty in the morning? Appalling, really.

"What?!"

He was pleased to see at least she was clearing the obstruction behind one hand as she reached for her water glass with the other. Some decorum there, after all. He liked this place; couldn't have her spewing on the counter. Undignified.

"There, there…well, fine then." A little annoyed she was shrugging off his very helpful back taps.

For her part, while the choking aspect wasn't fun, it did give her a chance to come up with…something ?coherent? to say. Maybe. She smiled thanks through teary eyes as the tiny pressed dress of wrinkled smiles brought her another water.

"Well? Have you finished making a scene yet?" He actually looked put-out, as if she'd inhaled pasta on purpose to avoid the question (she hadn't right? Yes, mostly sure of that).

"Well what?"

He sighed. Obtuse, stubborn woman.

"I asked, darling, why you've not asked me about other people."

"What about them?" Staring balefully at her plate as if to ward off another sauce-laden ambush on her trachea, fork poised to attack.

Not bothering to dignify that snark with a verbal response, he dropped his chin, cocked an eyebrow and pursed his lip at her. She wasn't supposed to answer him with a question, but did anyway. Rude. And kept on with said rudeness.

"Does it bother you that I haven't?" Canaan honestly hadn't seen the purpose. She knew he was bisexual. She wasn't. She knew his history of copious predilections to 'consume mass quantities' and didn't share them. Past that she'd deliberately shelved thinking on anything else, having quite enough on her cracked proverbial plate to manage with just their…whatever it was. How can you ask someone for something else if you don't know what it is you really want to be asking? Or can't currently offer more yourself?

Lucifer thought that question was….well, that was clearly just preposterously beside the point (had no idea his face was saying the opposite)…he just…oh, she was still talking.

"You haven't either. Of me. Do you think I should be bothered?"

Given the amount of spare time he knew she didn't have, he figured that she'd have to give up either sleeping or eating (probably the former) to pack anything other than the little extra time with him into a hellish schedule. But wasn't too happy about that unwelcomely bloated tick of a thought now lodged in his cranium. Bloody hell.

"You're quite…odd, you know." Just when he thought he was beginning to understand humans and what they usually wanted out of relationships…

"Wow. You never fail to come up with some beautiful words to make me just fall all over myself trying to get to you." The delivery was pure sarcasm, but it was actually a true statement. Despite herself, she'd found him nearly as irresistible as he'd claimed and was thoroughly enjoying her friend with benefits indeed. Lucifer had been a relaxed and attentive lover, though not cloyingly so. It had been...reassuring...to feel connected with him already, and perhaps nicer that some of their other snarls had been just blissfully shoved in a corner. Not swept out, but not in the way. And the ticklish 'hmm what's next?' wasn't too oppressive yet, either. Relishing the whole past month had been an unexpected rush in a charmingly wicked whirlwind. The skill set of compartmentalization had allowed her to switch tracks off the logical course of her brain for a time, and while she was sure it wasn't a permanent change was enjoying the brief scenic route through some unexpected landscapes while it lasted. She suspected a big part of that success was avoiding the need to introduce the murkiness of reality. As long as their suspended bubble was floating it wouldn't pop. But once it came down to the grounding influence of earth…well, of that she wasn't so sure. And she would miss – this whatever – oh yes, but she would miss him more, and that made her feel…

Back on the dusty shelf that thought went. Along with a few others.

He was still looking at her strangely.

"Come back to my building with me."

In broad daylight and chance running into that crazy Houdini assistant of his? "Thank you, no."

"Fine. Your house then. I've not been invited yet, you know. It's becoming quite a gaff on your part."

"That's correct, you have not."

"Why?"

Cue intense stare at pasta entrails.

"Then come upstairs with me here." He was running out of options and his legs and that car of hers were not conducive to happiness. Well, not twice in one week, any road. They weren't brazen juvenile delinquents.

"Lucifer! No! What the…" she looked around surreptitiously, even though they were the only patrons inside the shop.

"Canaan, come on. We're consenting adults. It's a bed-and-breakfast, as I've told you. Where do you think people generally are before breakfast? And don't you think the owners are well aware of the ramifications their commercial license grants them?"

"I couldn't!"

"For Heaven's sake, why not? It's not a vermin-laden spot, you know. No plastic coverings on the furniture or anything, mind. Quite tasteful."

"I just…" she shook her head, cutting lidded eyes over toward the entrance to the back where the little old couple was poring over stacks of what looked like receipts. Old school, for sure. Hence the issue.

"If you don't do better than that, I'm going to toss you over my shoulder, hit the staircase and make you settle up after in your skivvies. On three…"

"Lucifer."

"One."

"I'm warning you..." He grinned. THAT sounded promising.

"Two…suspense is building now…" Rubbing his hands together and flexing his arms. Totally unprepared for what she said next.

"Thr…" / "It would be like sneaking around at your parents' house with them balancing the checkbook downstairs. No way."

He stared blankly for a second and then burst out into gales of laughter. Deep, ringing bell tones that nearly shook the murderous remnants of lasagna off her plate.

Her additional comment of, "So glad we'd talked about making scenes…clearly you're well-versed in subterfuge." was drowned out. This, now this was why she still wanted things under wraps; he acted like a huge child at the drop of a hat. A very smart, funny, attractive child yes, but honestly. She smiled an apologetic eye roll to the curiously creased stares at the other end, not noticing the little smile exchanged between the two as she patted his arm to hush him.

"Stop! You're a nut."

Parents. Good Heavens, if she only knew.

And why hadn't he told her? He used to tell everyone, all the time. Putting a hand to the stitch laughter had created under his ribs, he began to sober his thoughts with his own take on their little bubble. It was wonderful inside…but impermanence seemed an integral part of that delicately iridescent cohesion. And if he told her who he was…whether she believed him or not…that would most certainly burst it, contents escaping everywhere. And he wasn't ready yet.

But someone else was…

A very perturbed someone waiting for him at his desk upon his unsatisfactorily quick return to work.

"Why are you so secretive? It's not as if I don't know where you've been, or been with!"

"Then why have you been constantly questioning me of late?! I certainly don't ask you how you spend all your time…and I don't think I don't know you're not being constantly ground under Amenadiel's *thumb* in earnest tutelage, Mazikeen. I know my brother better than you do, and he simply doesn't have that much to say. So…"

She glared at him, infuriated. Getting the same glare back.

"…so I'll tell you again, and so help me for our greater good you'd better heed me now – face the music and mind yourself."

Silent. Shaking with fury. 'Greater good' was it? Allowing herself to cool and think. And then smile slowly at how very easy enough to arrange that might be.

"Yes, Lucifer. You're right."

"Pardon?" He was convinced he'd misheard her. She'd been damn near impossible lately despite actual effort on his part. Frequent, irritatingly intensive effort.

"I'm sorry. I know I've been difficult. This all has been difficult for me, and I find myself taking frustration out on you because we're close. Or were. I miss you, miss 'us', sometimes. More lately as you've been…preoccupied. As you've said I have been." Best way to glove a lie was in truth.

Lucifer appreciated her words, but would be more convinced by her actions. Still…apologies were challenging for both of them so…

"Mazie mine, just…oh, I don't know. Just pare down on the constant intenseness, how about - yes? Have some fun. We used to be quite good at that you'll recall."

"Now that's an idea. I'll look at your schedule, and mine as well. Drinks soon? Just us, no seriousness, no angels nor angelic humans, either." Lucifer hid a mental smile here. Maze was erroneously convinced Canaan was somehow saintly. Generally calm yes, but the woman hid a quite a bit as he was still discovering himself. Still, this was his demon and longtime companion finally behaving herself. He had missed her, too.

"Done. Let me know when. Now, unless you've changed your mind about working on going down to New York with me - looks like a 'no' from the expression on your gorgeous face – get out and let me get something of consequence accomplished." The words were harsh but the tone was not and she gave him a lovely smile as she left.

'Gorgeous face' to face the music indeed, she thought, sliding a long painted fingernail over the small scar on her left eyebrow. All for their greater good…


	19. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you explain the unexplainable? (bit annoyed I haven't yet figured out how to keep my bolds and italics when wanted, but c'est la vie)

[ - ]

"This was a splendid idea of yours, Maze. Long overdue for certain."

"I agree, my lord."

"Mazikeen. Really, now. We're in public."

"And since when have you cared about what these paltry creatures may think? You know you enjoy it when I call you that."

"Well perhaps on occasion, but…" This term of endearment was one she'd generally used only when they were alone together. With less clothing.

"…but it has been some time, correct?" She smiles at him as she speaks, a flirtatiously winning one, and he chuckles despite himself. Lucifer felt good as his day had been well-spent if he didn't say so himself. Effectively terse morning calls meant action on two stalled project fronts, then a more welcome one from Canaan saying she had found herself with a rare space of time free after another one of those never-ending night shifts. Since she was on call before work this evening she'd planned to just sleep at the hospital, and appalled by what he considered A) a total waste of time spent horizontal without him and B) her soft skin on scratchy sheets covered in industrial detergent residue, he'd finally convinced her to stay for the day at that little B&B, fictional parent issues or not. A lovely shared bath, a long nap for her while he worked (spending more time than he'd admit peeking over spreadsheets at her curled next to him on the bed - glaring at her pager daring it to bleat). Followed by a truly spectacular wake-up call and now after-dinner drinks out with Charming Maze…yes. Lovely stuff. Knowing there was animosity between his demon and his mystery, he'd not told Canaan the nature of his plans for the evening. Not that she'd asked, either…something he still found slightly strange given the amount of barbaric jealousy he usually incited in humans, but still. Quite a satisfying day-into-evening it had been, indeed.

"Circumstances may ebb and flow…"

"…on both sides…." He chidingly flirts right back at her.

"…but you know I will always be with you. From now until the end."

"True enough, and I'm glad of it…though I far prefer this version. Tell my brother he needs to lay off the hearts and flowers nonsense and just give you a right good shag. You've been far too tense of late, Mazie mine."

She just smiles as only she can, holding her glass in long polished fingers and eyeing him over the rim of her tumbler.

"So, how is it going with that…human?"

"Which?" He gives her a loftily amused stare as he finishes his drink and signals for another. Had this been Lux with Maze running the show he'd never even need ask. Service in quite a decline, it seems.

"Lucifer, you know Mena isn't my only 'distraction' (just her most precious), yet it doesn't stop you pestering me - or him about it."

"Well, I pester him because I find it tremendously amusing to watch my brother do his best to not blush. Gives him quite an attractive glow under that rich skin of his. Though I was doing you a favor, making the great oaf more appealing and all."

She laughs; smoothly…alluringly. This easy banter between them after the good day is relaxing him, softening the wary ire he'd had around her. His guards are down and he feels glad of it. Maze does as well…it's what she's been orchestrating him toward for the past week with cloaked, insalubrious ease.

"So, no…really. You can tell me. You know I'll be pleased if you are; and I don't have to like it to do that." He smirks. It was this integration that she was generally so successful at, needling her way in with cunning smiles and sheathed claws.

Claws he'd given her.

Claws she'd sharpened in his service. How very sharp they were, hidden under those sheaths…

"She's seen my scars." The words leave his mouth nearly unbidden; a reflection back to the comfort and trust they'd once shared more easily, though this détente was not of that quality. It was the wont of the familiar integrity of their relationship that made him lapse, and she sees the flash of reserve for it tighten his mouth.

He holds back from her. Denying her. To his own detriment - and it is her duty to protect him, even from himself, so Maze goes silent. For an iota of time she squeezes the glass in her hand so hard she could hear the ultrasonic squeak of crinkling atoms. Being careful to only give him a glance of smoothly encouraging appraisal she forces herself to relax. Dangerous. More than she'd thought. Steeling herself for what was coming as it was very clearly necessary.

"Shame we don't have this back home." She eyes the thin amber swirl of the Macallan in the bottom of her glass, liquid light matched by her own eyes. Both expensive, expansive and deluding in large doses.

"Well, nothing too good for my Maze. I'll be right back, try not to get too lonely." He smiles in relief for her lack of bile at his confession.

Her eyes follow his progress to the side of the bar where he leans, chatting with the owner, his back toward their spot as he works magic on the woman. Maze quickly leans over his phone before her on the low table, scrolling rapidly. Finding what she's after. Tapping lightly with long nails ticking on the screen like the bomb mechanism within the message.

'change of plans. meet you at mine after you're free?''

Hoping for a quick reply. Looking as her Lucifer easily holds the woman in thrall as she reaches behind her on the shelf for the requested bottle. Hurry, hurry…eying the phone.

Impatiently tapping her booted foot. Brief chirp.

'change is good. nothing constant but. 30min, barring crisis'

She smiles…as only she can. Responding.

'lovely, darling'

She turns it off. She knows him so well. She does…not some fragile flight risk pincushioned with destruction. For herself AND him. Maze is still wearing her conniving smile and bathing in the undercurrent of quiet laughter when Lucifer arrives back, bearing a gift. He asks 'what's so funny' and she simply says she's received good news about one of her own projects. Maze feigns boredom, wants to be comfortable with him at home, she says. Becoming irritable around these loud empty vessels, she says. He's only too glad to leave as well, wanting her to be happy and pleasant as she has been tonight.

Enjoying her arm though his as they walk back the few blocks to home. Enjoying her easy laughter and companionship, and pleased to feel closer with her again. Lucifer is surprised when she keys his side of the elevator into the combination, but as she had said earlier, if she is content he can be as well.

They settle themselves on the office couch near the door at the end of his hallway, bottle open and glasses draining. Lucifer is at his ease, leaning into the cushions with a long arm extended toward Maze, laughing at her description of Amenadiel's efforts in teaching sympathy. His back is turned toward the door, and his first inclination that something is amiss is the savage smile blooming on his demon's face as she looks over his shoulder. Then an unexpected voice….and with that change in atmosphere the bubble he'd been so enjoying is eviscerated.

"So sorry. I didn't realize you already had company. I'm surprised you double-booked, or was this the 'change of plans' you had in mind?"

Lucifer turned sharply, shocked to see Canaan standing in the doorway. Her hand rested on the latch, taking in their closeness. The pair are affectionately positioned yet not amorously so, still, clearly more than a professional relationship. Mazikeen's savage smile turning vulturine etched this image crystal clear when she draped her hand over Lucifer's crossed knee, polished talons stroking over his thigh. Her goal here is to ensure Canaan is well on her way to becoming carrion in the demon's estimation and she is going to be certain only bones will be left to pick at. Lucifer's reaction to brush Mazikeen off and turn rising to face her is one of surprised annoyance, rather than shock at the quality of the touch. That abrupt hike on the learning curve jolts the human. She belatedly realizes she's jealously wounded (spare yourself: ignore what that means!), despite her best efforts to not consider all the ramifications of Lucifer's reputation. She is upset with him for softening her defenses, but more at herself for being so foolishly lax in allowing it to happen in the first place.

Lucifer saw those unbreachable crystal walls in her eyes snap up, and her grip on the door latch go bloodless.

He turned to his demon, angry and perplexed.

"Mazikeen. What…what are you doing?"

"She's just another conquest. A longer, more entertaining hunt, maybe, but she should know her place." The demon took pleasure in twisting the dagger she'd loosed.

"Is that true?" Canaan's voice was quiet. This meant more than jealousy. This meant they were not friends; not at all, not ever. And she'd been in grave error to trust him. Glad no more than she had, yet...

"It is not." Lucifer still saw her retreating from him, even though she stood locked in place.

Maze did not like the strength in his statement at all and gripped her hand on the hilt of the verbal dagger she'd landed. "If you've shown her your scars, I'm sure you've had many heart to heart chats. Such a sweet addition to your usual methods of just screwing them senseless." The smile Maze wore turned into a vilely amused rictus at Canaan's shocked glance her way. The demon eased forward as the predator she was, elbows on her knees and wrists crossed. There. Now this human who prized secrets knew that Lucifer hadn't kept her confidence. Yes….good…that blade was deep now. Just few more twists and she'd run.

"So, she knows…?" Her voice was even quieter. Canaan meant all her cloistered confessions; the presence of her own physical scars…and otherwise.

"No!" Lucifer's voice was shocked, getting louder, but not loud enough to drown out Maze's sharp, gleeful bark of "Yes. I know everything." And she did, as he did not. All the reasons she was going to cleave this human away from Lucifer before he could become attached (as before, to his pain)…and the look shared between the human and demon made the truth of that knowledge abundantly clear. Canaan closed her eyes, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

Lucifer was furiously aghast at the way circumstances were spinning. He'd known Maze to be viciously intent on punishment when required, but had no inkling of her need for it here. The demon was still speaking, quickly now, driving home her weapon. 'You've never had this sort of thing, right? Been pursued like this? By someone like him? It's what he does, entices. Tricks you, pulls you in, says whatever he needs to get everything he wants and it's worked, hasn't it? Oh, it has…I can see it in your face. Such a foolish, foolish person…but don't feel too badly; you're not the first, certainly won't be the last." Laughing at her.

"Canaan, no…it's not what you're thinking -" Talking over his demon and bringing a hand up to silence her but stunned into stillness by the sudden violence flaring in a human voice.

"ENOUGH!" With furious eyes, Canaan vented her spleen at Maze, but wanted nothing more, not now, not ever from the man she had thought she was learning to understand. She was damaged, yes, a little broken, surely. But not weak. And she would not suffer willingly at the hands of others in any way. Not ever again. Never.

Mazikeen had been enjoying herself, watching the human shrivel back into her shell, but this anger…this show of self-protection…this was not what she wanted to see. By all accounts, this insubstantial person should have been running by now. It was time, then. Time to finish her. Take the dagger twisted in her gut and slit her throat with it.

Time quickened its pace.

"Who are you to think you can speak to me this way?" The demon began her slow rise to a stand. Squaring her shoulders to the woman at the door.

"Who are you to think you deserve an answer to that question?" Canaan met the challenge with a clenched jaw.

"Oh human…I'll show you who I am…" She said this slowly.

And began to smile as only she could.

Lucifer had been worried for what his demon was going to say. He'd never expected what she was willing to do.

"All for our greater good, Lucifer, my lord." With the jibe of her earlier words twisted with his, Lucifer gaped in a shock of immobilized fury as the grin on Mazikeen's face grew twisted, slewing up in a rotten leer of torn flesh exposing jagged teeth and pulpy gums on the left. The small scar over her eye rent down, partially covering the wet blaze of ocular amber fire under the puckered skin. It then shot up past her forehead, peeling back tatters of desecrated skin and hair, racing down across her scalp and neck to open the demon's otherwise perfect skin to the horror of Hell's visage.

Lucifer screaming "NO!" as she changed, with his extended hand pushing her violently back down onto the couch without touching her body.

From ten feet away.

Looking at Canaan still standing by the door, frozen in place. Deathly silent.

The whole room fused in the silence of death.

Finally…

Cold and quiet her voice was as Canaan shakily addressed him. "You'd better show me something I can see and understand. Do it now."

The laugh from Mazikeen's torture of a face was nearly worse than her words. Nearly. "Be careful, human. His name is Lucifer Morningstar. His given name is Lucifer Morningstar. What do you think he'll show you if you ask?"

In the same fearful stance, breathing heavily, Lucifer clenched his extended hand and the horrible trap of Mazikeen's maw snapped closed with a wet click. Smothering any more of her words.

Never letting her eyes leave his, Canaan backed out of the door and down the short hallway, mind empty with shock. When Lucifer followed her through the doorway, she halted as prey would freeze in front of a predator.

'As' isn't 'is'.

She'd been terribly frightened before (never like this).

She'd been terribly injured before (what could they be capable of?).

She'd been terribly angry before (exactly like this).

She didn't see her friend. She didn't see the man she thought she knew. Strangely, she didn't see something to fear – he was following her, yes, but not pursuing her. What had that…horribly maimed thing said? Not 'hunting' her. But this was not her friend (only her betrayer). This in front of her was sternly coiled prehensile power. She could feel it leaching from him and it was chilling. Bone-rivening splinters of the deepest, darkest ice she could ever imagine.

Ice so deep no light could reach within.

But anger could. And she was angry. White-hot with it, and that staved off the chill.

"You lied to me."

Lucifer blanched at her words, shocked at the choice and the voice of them. That quiet voice where fury seethed.

"I have never…"

"'I'd not hurt you. I promise it'". She mocked him with the words he'd spoken the first night they were together. The first night she truly thought she could trust him. A dagger of words caught in the Devil's gut now.

"Canaan…"

"LIAR!"

His shoulders drew back as his fists clenched and chin dropped. Dark eyes boring into hers under furrowed brows, this time not seeking information: trying to send the truth of his. "I only told Mazikeen I showed you my scars. That is all I told her." She didn't believe him, how could she? He could tell from the set of her jaw and lock of her body.

"You think because you don't speak a lie you're still not false?"

He choked on her words, barely hearing her next ones.

"What is she? What are YOU? WHO are you?"

Furious himself over this exchange, done this way. Furious over his demon's actions that had brought them to this. Furious with her, too. The Devil spit phrases of his own.

"What am I? Who am I? Who are YOU? Hiding as you do. Lying to everyone, lying to me, lying to yourself…"

"You've NO RIGHT to me! NONE! And don't you dare think, not for one second that anything I've kept is anything like what I just saw! WHAT DID I SEE?!"

A ragged breath, then more terrible, painful words. Scorching words in a cold voice.

"What haven't I seen?"

He shook his head and clenched his jaw. Looking at the floor in front of himself.

"YOU show me YOU. Do it. Now. Or I'll never believe anything ever again."

Inside he cracked. She hadn't said 'never believe you again'. She'd said 'never believe anything again'. And on that, he'd knew how he'd robbed her. Stolen the rest of that remaining light she'd started to show. It had taken her a long time to warm to him, only for him, working around obstacles she still kept cloaked. But she had, and it was hard; he had felt it. He could feel this too: in the pain of betrayal still simmering off her - she'd never, never trust again. Anyone, for anything; not only him.

Just as he'd felt for so long. Excessive pain of betrayal. Unintentional pain he'd now given to someone already damaged. Still, he was afraid of what she was asking. Afraid she'd break completely. No, no more.

"I won't." His voice was blanketed agony, but Canaan set the match to his tinder.

"You said, 'I won't'. Not 'I can't.' You…you are what she threatened, aren't you? Somehow."

He was silent. Shaking with multifaceted rage. With loneliness and guilt. With fear of rejection. Finally...

"I am."

"Show me."

He pressed his mouth tightly, closing his eyes, shaking his head 'no'. He would not be the cause of any more pain.

He felt her hands strike his chest. He felt her voice strike his heart.

"DO IT NOW!"

The roil of anguish he always had locked away found this one, tiny pinhole where she'd punctured him with her kindness and care. The flare of the escape lit his eyes crimson. Just for a second.

But she saw.

Stopped yelling. Stopped moving. Watching him, her face a wan mask.

He tried to recover and approach her, but Canaan extended her arm out, warding him off and to his shock, beginning to laugh. Quietly at herself with only a fingernail's grip on her reality. He could almost see the thought 'as if this would stop him'. As if he'd hurt her….but oh, how he had. He took one more step, tormented fury and pain in his voice, 'you asked this of me.'

Nothing but quiet laughter. Dying away to silence.

Louder. "You asked this of me!"

Nothing. She wouldn't even look at him. Arm out, fingers splayed, eyes glazed to the floor beside her. Trying to protect herself and both knowing she was failing at it.

"YOU ASKED THIS OF ME!"

Canaan gave the same, silent absence of response he'd had from God since…forever. Nothing. It was devastating, all of it…he didn't choose this. No control over any of this. Always the same (…thesamethesamethesame…). Incandescent with rage as she turned to leave. Leaving him. Again. Like everyone he loves does.

As the elevator doors close the devil clasps his hands together, furiously. When Amenadiel appears, he is stricken by the look on Lucifer's face.

More by his words.

"Don't allow her to leave until I get back."

"What happened?"

"You'll see, brother. By the 'look' on her face…you'll see."

He punches the garage level in the elevator. Quiet, caged fury now. Once inside he puts the car roof up so she won't recognize it easily. He takes a surreptitious route around the few city blocks between his building and the hospital parking garage, not wanting to pass her as she's walking, angry still, but hoping for her safety. From herself, with what she's seen tonight. He recognizes her car as she peels out of the exit, running stop lights until she gets to the highway, going west. Traveling much too fast and too erratically for him to chance her seeing him…he hangs back, but follows her off a quiet suburban exit miles distant, through a small town and past it into deeper hills. Watching her progress. No longer following. Hunting.


	20. Land of Canaan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old paradigms can come in handy sometimes. But our traps are still traps whether they're built or repurposed regardless of what finds their way into them, right?

[ - ]

"What the actual fuck. Was that shit?"

She was finally home. Trying to still the infinite whirls of her mind with finite words where the spin of her speeding tires had been unsuccessful.

Repeated them more vehemently. Using the unrefined phrases to shock a sense of normalized reality into herself.

Not this new, mind-cracking actuality taunting her with crimson eyes and torn faces.

Speaking the coarse words directly into the spokes of her steering wheel like all the answers of the universe lay within that hub. And why not, considering what other incongruities were running around in leather skirts and dress suits…?

Jesus Christ.

Hang on…apparently anything was now possible so she'd better rein in her phrases of frustration. Bolts of lightning would only complicate matters. Or being crushed by a shit-ton of loaves and fishes would also suck.

Hah.

Oh good, Finally some familiarity: warped humor. Where that went kiltered adjustment could (somehow) follow like it always had. Years of intense training required to run personal and professional mayhem efficiently kicking in. Triage. Sequestering. Adding to the infinite holding pattern for personal reactions to shock that getting the work in front of her accomplished had always required. She could keep that up indefinitely with her track record. So, next….this unexpected emotional shrapnel she was riddled with…in some ways more complicated. Simply because she *might* be able to suss this out as she could not the other anomalies she'd seen.

One of the inherent problems with relationships is that they are often as difficult to initially define as the people that comprise them. 'Definitely true in THIS case," Canaan muttered to herself. 'What am I doing, anyway? With whom, even?" Intentionally concentrating on his affect, not his identity: still trying not to get snagged by that.

"WHY do I even CARE?! Idiot." She so was. Caring was awful. Being at someone else's mercy was awful.

These were more manageable questions. What had she been thinking, getting involved with anyone much less…well? Leave it at 'anyone'.

She hissed out an explosive breath, laying her forehead back on the steering wheel, sorely tempted to bang against it. Maybe it would knock some sense into her. She was exasperated with the whole promiscuity situation, yes, but mostly with herself for walking into it. He'd never lied about that, and she'd never asked. Made a fucking point of that, too…and so superficiously proud of herself for being so equanimous. 'I am a sappy, heart-sick moron who makes lousy personal decisions and fools myself about it. At least THAT's being more honest, I suppose. Self-reflection – yay, what a wonderful skill to have garnered halfway through one's life". She let one corner of her mouth turn up in a sardonic smirk. Truthfully, denial of comfort along with scouring scrutiny and a healthy dose of sarcasm had gotten her quite far, all things considered, and they were familiar instruments for her to wield. She saw no need to change her arsenal - for anyone. Including herself.

'Just shuck it all off. ALL of it: removes the need to puzzle over anything else troubling.'

Done.

She hoped (being more than a little aware she was likely kidding herself just as much with that.)

Canaan had completed the half-hour drive home nearly on mental autopilot, preoccupied as she was. She sighed, grabbed her bag off the passenger seat and decided to leave her car parked slightly askew in the shared driveway. Hopefully her one set of elderly neighbors wouldn't back into it leaving in the morning, but at the moment she just didn't care. Opening the door she was met by the cleansing scent of the river carried up from the ravine below on the night breeze. It felt cool on her still-flushed cheeks; she drank in a deep breath and felt a little better. Looking up at the sky, raggedy clouds chased over the nearly full moon washing out the seed scatter of stars. The interplay of light and dark had a new, raw fascination for her. 'Like some other scenarios of late, hmm?' she asked herself, footsteps crunching up the gravel driveway to her gate.

She loved her sanctuary. A relatively short distance from the city and work, it was still a quiet refuge in the hills, and after everything endured in recent years she viscerally required her space to feel safe and peaceful. The few post-highway streets she passed through on the way to her home had the bookstores, eclectic shops and small cafes she equated with a pleasant 'smart small town near big city' vibe. Her building was a tastefully high-end original; six units constructed almost as an organism of fractal chitin climbing up the hill, with a central elevator system as the twisted spine. Each unit was on its own level, and also had its own outside gate and path to the staircase belonging to each large balcony: all vistas were private. None of the windows of the different units even looked over one another, contributing to a deliciously deceptive feeling of solitude within small clan. Large trees had been spared during the construction and the artful spaces of wood, stone and glass appeared to have just grown into their environment as naturally as other wild things. The common areas of lobby and the landscaping of the outside grounds were deceptively simple in design, and married a feeling of openness with comfortable shelter – it would be a perfect welcome during the howling winds of winter. The overall effect of the small complex unfolding up the tree and rock-strewn hillside was one of friendly privacy, and her neighbors shared her tactful mannerisms. Aptly named 'Haven", the complex was perfect for her, for now, as all she had wanted when she chose it months ago had been sequestered serenity. Canaan mentally rebuked herself for disturbing her hard-won peace with unwanted complications.

Deliberately not pausing to consider if the 'unwanted complications' were truly unwanted, she decided to vent steam by taking the long walk outside up to her balcony rather than use the elevator. Her unit was the fourth up the hill, and the only one facing due east. The tall, white wrought-iron gate she opened off the driveway led to her private path of flagstone steps within stone walls: surely treacherous in winter, but all storybook enchantment on this moonlit night of early fall. The natural rock of the inside wall was etched with ivy, soaring high above her to form the foundations for the curving balconies of her two neighbors on this side of the complex. The outside wall was shoulder-high on her, and afforded an undulating view far over the dark hills of wood and meadow approaching the lights of the city spires. On days when the wind blew in strongly from the east, the salty tang of the ocean beyond floated gingerly on the air. The last curve on the walkway to her own balcony had another white wrought-iron gate, smaller than the first, and she unlocked it to truly come home. Once through, she made a sharp turn to the left to climb several more wide flagstone steps. Ferns hung in baskets from wall anchors and flowerpots of myriad size and plant variety on the steps were sheltered from the wind here, and flourished under her care. It always felt a little bit like Eden to her, and tonight her tired soul was even more appreciative of the secluded comfort of her home. The last sharp turn to the right opened onto her high balcony and the unobstructed view far to the east. A nook with a small piece of furniture, curved like a half-smile, sat just inside the entrance – it was her favorite spot to read outside. Up two more low steps led to the widest part of the 'pie-piece' shape her unit was comprised of. A small outdoor kitchen snugged along one portion of the outside wall; just a glorified stone counter harboring a little sink, frig and grill. A small round table in front of the counter was the perfect spot to feed a few friends. Two chaises with white cushions under a curtained pergola were on the other side, just in front of a small plunge pool. This was her extravagance, and its addition was worth every bit of the trouble it had taken to have it put in post-construction. Hers was a single unit, and had never been lived in prior. The original owner had sold it so quickly midway through the construction process that she was able to choose many of the finishing additions herself before moving here. This truly was Canaan's own 'haven' in more ways than one and she was gratefully, fiercely protective of it.

The wall dividing the exterior and interior spaces was all structural beams and glass; strength and beauty arching up over her head a story and a half. A skylight in the peaked ceiling running over the apex of the interior space brought the outside in even more. It was visually quenching; all open with warm wood floors divided only by her furniture and rugs into different settings. A conversation area of loveseat and two comfortable chairs near the gray stone fireplace, and a counter with high seats separating her galley-style kitchen from the rest of the airy room with a narrow table for six adjacent was perfectly adequate for small gatherings. An L-shaped desk for her work and computer against the far wall took advantage of the light and view, flanked by an open counter over low cabinetry for art and supplies. The door next to her kitchen counter led to the small anteroom where her elevator linked to the main structure. Although small, another skylight above that pillarous space bathed it with light in the daytime, and the potted plants, two chairs and a fat little lamp on a table in between made a nice overflow space the few times she did entertain. The bedroom was to the left of her interior door, the 'first bite' of the pie, cozy but not cramped with plenty of room for her bed and a small writing desk. Curtains on the two windows bordering her bedroom door let her control the morning light that washed in the unit from the glass wall opposite, but the transom of stained glass overhead was a luminescent sieve of color through all the changes of daylight. Her 'necessary rooms' were situated along one narrow side of her space; a walk-through style set-up from her dressing area to bath with a large slipper tub, huge walk-in shower and door to her laundry area and bathroom, which then opened out to the side of her living room. High rectangular windows running parallel to the ceiling along the outside wall throughout the whole length afforded light and privacy. She appreciated the quality of architectural thought that went into creating such a welcoming but personal space. Canaan usually found the soft earthy tones on the walls behind her art and books refreshing, and use of natural materials in combination with the 'outside-in' aspects of her home a balm. "But not tonight, apparently." she sighed.

Anxious to rid herself of the evening's prior angst, she showered quickly, threw on a plain, pale blue cotton shift and poured herself a glass of wine to take out to the balcony. She twisted her wet hair into tameness against the errant breezes, and it hung in a long rope down the center of her back. She rested her elbows on the outer stone wall of her space, and looked out into the deeps of the night hoping the calm of the late evening would wick peace into her own turbulence. She did not stay out very long as the wind which felt so refreshing earlier had become bracing, and her nightwear was thin. Canaan went inside to light a fire, and curled under a soft throw on the chair cattycorner to it. Soothed somewhat by the mesmerizing crackle of the flames and heady scent of woodsmoke, she finally fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams plagued by what she could not (or would not) understand while awake.

She wasn't the only one overly riled this night, and while she felt alone in her mental disarray, she was not.

Lucifer had followed her home from a distance, apprehensive for her well-being after their heated argument, although still careeningly angry himself. He was also more than a little curious about her refuge. Her address was in a location unfamiliar to him, although Maze had procured it along with a few other minor 'talking points' he'd requested after their first meeting. He knew she was a solitary person, and despite his outward guise of charming candor he still had more than a few secrets of his own, and it wasn't hard to imagine what he would feel if his own privacy was compromised - as Mazikeen would shortly discover the extent of. Perhaps painfully. He felt Canaan would react in a similar manner, so he was careful not to be discerned. He had slowed at the bottom of the long, private driveway and turned his headlights off when he saw hers stop moving higher up. Pulling his car unobtrusively off to the side of the road, he strode swiftly and silently up the steep hill just in time to see which white gate Canaan had entered. After just a few minutes (but felt much longer to him; he detested waiting) he slipped quietly after her up the stone walkway, his deep grey suit and dark hair muting his presence. He was hunting, and looked every inch of it. Only his eyes glittered in the moon's light, and they widened in appreciation as he vaulted her last gate in just time to see her walk into her home and turn on the lights. It was a beautiful space, a true refuge, and it suited her perfectly. No wonder she was protective of it, he thought. He didn't have overly emotional attachments to many of his places… or anything else, generally. That had suited him fine, until fairly recently, that is. Frustrating.

He shook his head in annoyance and took a deep breath. The scents from the little stairway garden's late season flowers blended with that of river and trees on the wind, providing him with the same wash of ease that Canaan had appreciated earlier. He crept slowly up her steps, keeping to the shadows. Was he unwilling to frighten her, or simply afraid she'd run him off angrily? "Probably both," he snarled to himself. A peek around the corner let him appreciate the warm, welcoming lights of her home fully. Casting his glance outward, the golden glow of the city off to the side in the distance transitioned into moon and starlit cloud-streaked plunge of indigo overhead. The view struck a deep pang in him. Just a little too familiar…despite the night's beauty, the vaults of heaven did not bring him comfort. Understandably so.

He had become so engrossed in his thoughts he nearly missed Canaan opening her door to come back out into the night. With long arms flattening against the wall and stooping slightly, he blended into the dark shadows and foliage on her balcony stairway: only the gleaming of his eyes betrayed his position. His intense stare and posture made him look positively predatory; which indeed he had been for time out of mind. She looked so young; bare feet padding over the moss-speckled stones to the wall, long wet hair hanging down, loose nightdress fluttering in the breeze around her slender body and a glass of liquid garnet skimming the interior light's refractions though her fingers. It was a lovely picture, but something about watching her unawares struck an unexpected chord of painful sadness in him. Canaan looked small and defenseless, but he was well aware of the armor layered thick upon her. Discovery of any chinks in the careful construction resulted in a violent shock. He knew; he had been there the few times it happened, tonight being the worst. Only when solitary could she truly relax and feel safe. Appreciation for the vast amount of loneliness required for that perspective touched him, as he understood it all too well. He suddenly felt as if he had stopped watching her, and started really seeing the woman in front of him. It affected him more profoundly than he cared to admit, causing him to evaluate his own staunch self-protection; all those honed, polished veneers of persona and mannerisms. Loathing for that first wisp of perceived weakness of self drenched him, and his upper lip lifted slightly in a disgusted sneer. Just as Lucifer was starting to really seethe at himself for ever coming here, for bothering with a mystery...for starting to feel anything deeply, again, ever, what she did next derailed his train of thought completely.

She had set the glass down on the thick stone wall of the outer balcony, freeing her hands to twist her hair back. The length of it still surprised him, this visage of wildness in a person who was steeped in control (most of the time). A few loose tendrils drying quickly in the wind danced around her upper body, shining in the silver light. Leaning on her elbows she held the wineglass gently in both cupped hands out in front of her. For a time she looked up into the changing tapestry of the night sky, seemingly finding solace where he did not. A pang of jealousy struck him for it and his eyes hardened.

A stronger gust of wind made her shiver, and she looked down at the untouched fluid in her glass. Something small and bright as a resilient diamond splashed into the wine, and she touched a hand to her face in surprise. As Lucifer was behind her and to the side, his sharp eyes could see the glimmer of wiped tears on her palm as she drew her hand away. She seemed startled – staring at her hand held out before her, she then slapped it down hard into the wall, as if she found her own pain repugnant. Making a fist, striking again, hard enough to blood her knuckles. That reaction jolted him, and he was surprised to feel the blow as if she'd struck his chest rather than her wall. Then skewered to see her lean over, head going down in that hand, body clenched in one silent sob. Ensnared in amber misery. Finally she moved, taking a deep, shuddering breath and pouring the wine out into the wind. Canaan opened her fingers slowly and let the glass fall away. He heard it shatter on the rocks far below, and it wounded him further to wonder what else was breaking in her. Turning swiftly, she stalked over the cold stones and reentered her home. Shifting position and craning his neck slightly, he could see her kneel to gather wood and light a fire. Her expression was stonily closed, and the last tears he saw slip down her cheeks she ignored. She reached for a small object on one of the side tables, but hidden in her hands he could not tell what it was. Gathering herself under a colorful throw in a chair, he watched as she stared into the flames for a long time – the intensity in her hazel eyes more violent than the fire before her. When she finally closed them to rest, Lucifer wasn't sure if he was more relived for her, or for him. Watching her, he realized even if she did not, that her sanctuary only kept her safe from others. Seeing the hurt behind those eyes without fully understanding all the causes seared him, and he felt unfamiliar fear. Not just for her, but for himself. He heard those closer echoes of his own shadowed pain more clearly now, and covered his eyes with his hands for a moment.

He watched her silently for a time longer, sleeping now, fitfully yes, but soundly enough for him to move around. He strode up to the main level of the balcony and looked out over the edge. On the rocks far below the glass shards winked in the moonlight like the light off the nearby river. Turning back to the house and the sleeping woman inside, he crept in and turned off the lights. The low glow from the dying fire flared briefly as a log popped and crackled sparks as it settled. Canaan stirred in her sleep, and hearing a small sad sound from the back of her throat pained him. He looked on her delicate face in the firelight; brow slightly furrowed with difficult dreams, but faint upturned lines etched at the corners of her eyes and mouth bespoke a history of smiles and laughter, though he had yet to see these as often as he wanted. Did he deserve to? Probably not yet, but the intrusive silent answer he felt to his pensive question was 'yes'. Instead of feeling pleased however, he was suddenly wary. Afraid she would wake and find him leaning over her, he brushed a lock of hair from her face and laid a gentle kiss on her temple. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking that made him see the tension there relax somewhat? He walked back outside into the silence of the night, and collapsed down into the curved piece of furniture near the balcony stair entrance. It was a rare occasion, but he now truly questioned the validity of what he was doing. Anything he was doing. Here or anywhere else for that matter.

"Help."

It wasn't a request, or reflection, either. Just the one simple word spoken aloud.

Crossing his ankles and folding his elegant hands behind his head, he stared up into the vertical well of night sky. And for once, he did not feel fear, or anger…or anything at the sight. Nothing at all. A small part of him noticed the absence of familiar rage at the stars, but mostly he felt like a tuning fork released from the long vibration of a jarringly wrong note. The quiet was deep, and he embraced it. Lucifer's long body reflected that quiet with his own stillness, and it was in this way Canaan found him hours later.


	21. Normal is Just a Setting on a Dryer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it was possible to find precarious happiness after the long decision and experience that it didn't exist…what might one do to keep it? Becomes explicit. And, cheesily, to take a note from Amenadiel, 'they get a little weather to help make the moment'. Marker in text, small note post

She woke just before sunrise, a little bit torqued logistically as she'd forgotten she'd fallen asleep in front of the fire. A few embers still glowed through the ashes, and the grey color mirrored the dark, predawn cloud cover outside. She sat up, yawned and stretched. Then froze…the house lights were out – all of them. She knew she had left the kitchen light on when she had opened the wine (waste of alcohol and a good glass, that. What had she been thinking?). The light on her desk had been on, too…what the hell? With no lights to reflect on the glass wall, she could easily see outside into the dim steel-skied morning, and it looked like something (someone?) lay on the curved rest near her balcony entrance. Simultaneously chary and incensed at the unknown intrusion, she wrapped the blanket around her body, grabbed a long, hooked poker from beside the fireplace and opened the door. Approaching from the back, she saw the figure hadn't moved – asleep maybe? Her thoughts still cottoned in from the rough adjust to waking she really did not know what to expect. Or whom. As she crept around to the side of the rest, poker in hand, she saw him. Him. In an instant, the memories of the heated argument last evening flooded her mind. Heat of disbelief and confusion. She inhaled swiftly…and waited. For what? Smoke and fire? Pitchforks? Crimson eyes? For her brittle mind to actually snap? She was livid with him for this new fear, 'devil' or no.

Lucifer waited as well. Sleep had never taken him; just recognition of time passing staring hard into the dark watches of the night under the gathering clouds. Wrung out and twisted into his mind's own vast labyrinth, he heard Canaan open the door and come out from behind the rest he lay on. Tracking her with his eyes, he found her body language confusing – increasing ferocity, receding fear and…something else? All this muted energy coursing just beneath the surface of her steely gaze was her calm before the storm, perhaps? When he saw the poker clenched in her hand, he was briefly tempted to slip into sarcastic banter referencing the damage she could do to him if she wished….but realized that after last night she could hurt him easily enough even without a physical weapon. Recognizing that sent another crack singing along his own armor, and he felt a hollow ache start in the back of his throat. Canaan noticed the defeated change in his posture, and without knowing why, felt her furious confusion begin to seep away.

Her long hair, dry now, was as he'd never seen it: thick loose waves tangling in the wind and tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. Taking in her fierce stance, the blaze in her eyes and her white-knuckled grip on the poker, the unexpected realization hit him with a powerful shock. How could he not have seen before? One of those rarities found on mortal planes maybe, those sensitive to the slipstream of matter and energy…but battened under self-control so intense even she wasn't aware of it. The prison of pure rationality and distrust of feeling crippling her. Somehow she sensed kith with him, but subconsciously he unnerved her. The push and pull between attraction to the unknown and fear of subsuming to irrationality had to be torture, even if she wasn't fully aware of the process. That thought was staggering. How can one ever relate to another who keeps such a large portion hidden, especially from herself? The primal part of him that always sought comfort in his senses noticed she was still wrapped in her blanket…. and he knew how thin the little slip of cotton she wore underneath it was. The surge of hot blood coursing through his body contrasted with sudden awareness of how deeply the night wind had laid in its chill. She was so hard for him to read now, and the uncertainty distressed him. Her hazel eyes were as clouded as the bare morning; as turbulent as the storm lowering over them. As when he watched her sleeping, so alone (but not really)…her expression stoked a bloom of pain in his chest, then a subtle twist in his lower belly. Her sway wove into him on every level and it was confoundingly powerful. Moreso because he knew it was unintentional. He felt raw, unguarded, exposed…and incapable of fathoming what might happen next. That last realization alone was enough to make him hood his eyes and retreat further into his watchful silence.

Conflicting and contradicting thoughts cavorted over each other in Canaan's mind. What she could say – should say - to this man? This...crypticism…lying before her, seemed endless but without an appropriate beginning. She was ragingly perplexed. Hugely wary. She was hurt – as much from her failed obfuscation of self than any prior action of his. She was bewildered at his presence here – and how long had he been on her balcony anyway? It was cold! He was still wearing his clothes from last night: the thin charcoal-colored shirt and dark suit pants. His sensitive hands were folded under his head, suit jacket crumpled up underneath them. The juxtaposition of the dark material with pale skin made him appear nearly translucent in the implied light of the gray pre-dawn sky. His collar was loosened…and she could see his pulse beating in the side of his neck turned toward her – was it speeding up or just her imagination? She examined him more intently. He looked exhausted, worn from the inside out and the edges of his fathomless eyes were reddened under their frame of dark lashes. It was such a contrast from how she had seen him last – perfectly towering rage and frustration – that it actually took her breath away. Looking down and watching his breath catch, seeing him shift slightly on the rest…she knew she had no good words for this, him, or herself, and suddenly, inexplicably, that intense anger was suspended from her. For now.

Her move to set the poker down gently was reciprocated in a hesitative whispering appearance of the smile lines at the corners of his mouth – the micro expression softened her. She made a small 'scooch over' moment with her left hand. He complied immediately, and seeing the planes of his fine body ripple under the thin material of his shirt quickened her own pulse. She perched beside him on the narrow rest, and when he began to startle into rising, veils scaling over his eyes, she placed her left hand over his heart. No. She wanted to see what she was getting into. Really see. He owed her that. With a small shake of her head, she bade him with her gaze to be still, to relinquish what was obviously becoming a mere facade of control. Lucifer was caught between wondering (again) how she could be aware of his minor manipulations of protective energy and wanting her to know more as she was silently asking him. He lay back slowly, but she could feel the tension humming through him – wild and unpredictable – like a dangerous animal. 'And that's probably not far off,' she thought to herself. He was so powerful…and so responsive. Yet here she was, silently asking for his acquiescent restraint and getting it. She leaned forward over him, right hand smoothing the wind-tossed hair off his forehead much as he had done for her last night without her knowledge and looked steadily into the dark mosaic of his eyes. Tannins of living energy, they widened as he drank her in, deepening their colors even further. He was no cookie-cutter model of a man, but so achingly beautiful (of course – wasn't he made that way?), however, it wasn't his identity but rather how he 'lived in himself' that knitted the power of his presence insistently into her. With such initial reluctance on her part, but truly so nonetheless. The fluent expressiveness of his spirit through that face and body, the cleverness, the humor, the sudden kindnesses which seemed to surprise him more than anyone, oh those eyes, and yes, even the petulance and anger…the passion she found so unpredictable – all of it made him who he was. Not what he was. Though she did not understand her reactions, nor him, she could simply appreciate this force of nature in front of her. Retreating from fear, slowly. Not trying to unknot this mystery, simply letting it lie breathing quickly in front of her. Allowing herself to see only what she knew to be true and to thaw a bit more. Canaan leaned forward further and kissed his forehead. And with a tentative fingertip, touched the scars beginning at his nape, wondering now what they were. The touch cleaved a hidden, near forgotten part of him open: a geode of sharp, refractory memories.

Dark welcoming void. Brilliance of loving light. Sensing others. Intense companionship. Decisions. Terrible loss with FEARANDPAINANDFALLING into isolation. Loneliness of a clouded mind. Savage misery. Needing to escape. Building despair. Expiring faith.

No no no! He shielded her from this as he could not for himself, shocked at this cascade as she touched his old wounds. Unexpected reaction to her curiosity. Lucifer quailed under her gentle ministrations, terrified.

"Don't, please." He'd said these words before, but had never felt this reaction.

"As you ask."

Slowly, the spill of memory began to abate, but not disappear. His senses were dangerously powerful, forged in the dawn of time and that power untethered was an incredible risk to others and himself. And then, just as he had in the very beginning, at this moment too he let his care fly. Her soft touches on his face mirrored his from last night (had she really been asleep?), and the storm rising in his heart…and body…was reflected in the clouds roiling over them both in the soft light of early dawn. His attraction to her was powerful, as hers for him (one of the sources of her acute distress last night, he realized), but passion was being distilled into complicated potency by these strange, unblemished feelings now cycling freely through him. He sensed they weren't his alone. He was apprehensive to be stepping onto an unknown path – and more so with another damaged strange traveler with intentions clouded to them both. He opened his mouth to finally speak and she stopped him with a soft kiss. It was so unexpected and painfully sweet that he closed his eyes and reflexively tensed his body up to meet her. Her warmth beside him was gone – his eyes flew open; certain she'd left him again – and saw her standing over him once more, shaking out the blanket and letting the wind stretch it behind her. Their eyes locked and his breathing was beginning to become audibly rough as he allowed more controls to crack away. Watching each other intently she extended herself over him, the full length of her smaller body settling slowly into his frame. Covered with human and blanket he was instantly warmed (no, on fire), and he was sure she could hear the racing of his heart. He knew unequivocally she could feel it pounding under her hands on his chest. Once more he tried to speak, even though he had no idea what words would come. This time it was Canaan's fingertips coming to rest softly on his mouth that hushed him.

[ - ]

"Shhhh," she whispered, the tiny smile in the sound making the butterflies in his belly tumble faster. Involuntarily, he arced against her, clamping his arms tightly around her back. Astounded by this under the confliction of twisted thought and unfamiliar emotion, she felt the same. "I know. Oh, I know." She moved intently with him, the wistful sadness in her words tugging harder at his heart while she scattered his senses and sent them spiraling. Mind and body churning, last barriers splintering as he gave himself over: raw now to that pull, that thrall she had. The one she hid even from herself. Burnishing him. A throatier version of Canaan's voice stirred him even more, trembling under her. "We have things to say, and we can…but for now this…" she ran her palms lightly over his neck, "… is how..." Reaching his hands up to cup her face, he stroked her mouth with his thumbs. It was such a damnable cliché, but he was willingly drowning in this somber grey gaze, and at least in this moment all he wanted was to be swept in faster rather than fight the tide for control. Unwilling to trust his voice he simply nodded, and drew her face down to his. An even sweeter kiss followed, not chaste by any means, but so gentle, so tender…. so full of everything he could not say, even if she'd have let him try.

The small furniture piece crimped his body. He was essentially trapped in a gentle upward curve on the narrow rest, supine and subject to her touch without the freedom of movement he was generally accustomed to. Their deep kiss was followed by another, and again, again, blending together in an increasingly dangerous dance of tongues and teeth. Ragingly inflamed now, mouth seeking solace in hers, he was suddenly bereft as she pulled away. The next iotas of time followed a flashbulb progression of her mouth bestowing ablutions on his neck (more, oh more I'm crying for that), then spreading out over his chest as she unbuttoned his shirt, her hot tongue pressing hard into his resilient skin, fingers probing, seeking all the sensitive parts of his torso. He groaned as she swept under his belt, short nails grazing him and he reflexively reared under her. She loosened his buckle with her teeth and with his navel as the initial epicenter she ran her soft warm mouth in ever-increasing circles over the stuttering clench of lean muscle, softer hair trailing over him and dragging sparks after it to fire him with.

Their ragged breathing and first hard spats of rain were the backdrop for her roving hands, and then his. Desperate to touch her skin, he roughly pulled the thin cotton shift off over her head. Momentarily afraid his ardor had frightened her, Lucifer paused, waiting to see what she would do. Frozen for a moment in surprise, she then rocked back on his hips, face to the sky, welcoming the contrasting shock of wind and cold rain on her warm skin. Feeling him so present underneath her sent a wrenching shudder through every single nerve. She felt one of his hands splay her belly and the other her lower back to steady her, and the care in the movement both washed her heart and torched her body. Watching her hair tossed by the wind around the twist of her shoulders, and the alabaster light playing on the reflective shimmer the rain gave to her skin gave him one of the most beautiful images of her for his memory. So wild. Free. Recovering, she grazed his bare skin with her own (fiery quicksilver contact) as she brought herself back down to lay over him. Sinuously pressing and releasing her entire body against his rhythmically, she hurled him into trip-wire sensitivity. Again she twisted to tongue down the deep furrow between the central muscles of his abdomen, and deftly flipped open the buttons under his open belt with her fingers. Needing her closer, he once more drew her face to his. Lost in their deep kisses, and the naked feel of her tangling against him, his awareness skimmed that she'd worked him free of his clothes until he felt the sharp air on the most sensitive part of his skin.

He stopped. Not knowing how he retained the power to do so, he stopped. He held on to whatever parts of her he could reach and caught her hard, silently begging her to be still. She slowed her movements, and they locked gaze under half-lidded, half-sated eyes.

"Please," he rasped, threading his fingers into her hair. "…please tell me you're not frightened. That this is what you want. That I am…what you want."

'Do you really need to hear?" She breathed the incredulous question against his ear. She felt incandescent with craving; how could he not realize?

"Yeeeessss". The word was drawn out and painful, spoken from the spun threads of rampant desire and fear of not being able to sense her. Untethered, he was barely hanging on to lucidity, but still needed her to know that she was not snarled as he was; that she could choose for herself. In a hidden part of her mind, she finally began to understand that his mental barriers were meant to protect him and engage her, not slave her to his whim. He was willingly putting himself in danger to show her just this. It was such a gift, and hearing him struggle so was overwhelming.

"Then if it's an answer you need, this is mine."

Naked as he had rendered her, she again sat up over him, cradling his hips with the lithe muscles of her thighs, running her hands over all the skin she'd worked to expose, skimming her nails as she traced the lines of flexing muscle and bone, stitching his body with electric threads. He writhed under her, reflexively digging his strong fingers hard into her legs in an effort to anchor himself in the storm. Her cry froze him for a moment, his own breath catching fearfully in his throat before he watched her toss back her head in gratifying response. He was so much stronger than she, and unbound as he was Lucifer was frightened of hurting her. Canaan wasn't. Swiftly she leaned down, again slowing her movements and his as well.

"Yes," she murmured, "Yes, this. Now. Oh, now…" Charged so deeply with their fervor, he was barely aware of her position shifting until he felt her burying him.

Oh… the atavistic heat of her softness around the longing ache he pressed deeper within (oh yes…let me, accept me…want me…). Needing this raw comfort so very badly.

He arched his back hard, twisting his hips in involuntary response to the compounded sensations flooding through him unabated. Stretching herself along as much of his pitching body as she could reach to wind them together, she created a fluid amalgamation of both. Their union under the storm was a drastic alteration from simple luscious sex to true communion as she tempered him, bringing his body into surging cadence with hers. Flesh and bone, sweet ache and salve, spirit and redemption; all guided with the curve of her hips, the arch of her back and the swell of her breasts against the brace of his body. Canaan knew her navigation through their private storms together meant relying on his ability to carry them blind, and right now, guards down, she trusted him fully. She could feel him reach out to seek, engage and follow her, trusting her in kind and that knowledge struck a powerful chord humming through the sinews joining her mind and body. When the towering waves screaming through his senses grew even stronger, threatening him, he did not falter, but simply latched harder to her, still echoing every movement through her design of their dance. Newly appreciating his limits and so ready herself, she drove them with hard, slow arcs over the edge, falling together, invisible electric power crackling over them. Cold pelts of rainwater strumming down into their skins on the outside a mirror reflection for the hot, pulsing flood of release rising within. His strong hands tangled through her hair and clenched along her jaw ensured their eyes were synced as their bodies, watching each other dissolving in welcome relief.

The clouds had unfurled fully just as they did. Finishing off in the blast of rain and gusting winds, she had never felt more uninhibited, and being the natural force that he was, Lucifer had never felt more at home with another during such intimacy. Nipping at her mouth with his last throes, he cosseted her tightly in long arms and legs, unwilling to relinquish the closeness he craved. For an infinite moment he felt her beating heart and fast breath above him as if they were his own. Burying his face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, he clenched her harder, trying to calm roiling emotion with strength. "Raene…" he murmured softly, milking a drop of skywater from a tendril of her hair. Hearing his tone, despite her attempts at deflection in that instant she knew who he was, who she was truly becoming, and who she was leaving behind to do so. Anxious, she tried to shunt off her scare, using his words.

"Oh, no don't, please!"

Heavy events of last night and this morning trapdoored in - all just too much complexity to bear and she reacted as if stung. Abruptly chilled in heart and body as she tore herself away, he was momentarily stunned by the sudden tears that sparked his eyes before he quickly regained his accustomed composure. Now he understood better what she must have felt last night before she let her glass fall. He'd have to be more careful. But mastery of eons let him slip on arrogance to hide under almost as easily as if he was choosing clothes, and he was nearly successful at it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canaan is moderately successful at seeing the 'person' behind the persona and tries to act accordingly, though it is a challenge. For his part, Lucifer allows himself some impulsive freedom from the controls he's become so accustomed to needing, and is pleasantly surprised that he doesn't completely fall apart, although there is a close moment when she intentionally touches his scars. A more unpleasant surprise is that once again, he's not gotten as far as he'd expected, and this human, although stretching her boundaries, isn't nearly as strong as both of them might like.


	22. Wash These Sins Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being mentally and emotionally debrided can make simple pleasures more appreciated, even as a stopgap.

[ - ]

"What, no basking in the blissful afterglow?" he chided as she quickly gathered up the wet blanket and her shift. It was the first thing he had said to her conversationally since the fierce argument last night, and the power in that accented voice, rich and dark as molasses rolled over her like an ocean wave. She turned away, gathering herself. Despite what they had just shared, there was so much she could not understand and that was profoundly troubling. Shuddering slightly under the duality of warm sultry voice and cold driving rain, she looked back askance at him. If anything, he appeared even more adrift than he had when she first saw him this morning. Exhausted, undone, shivering, the rain flattening (what was left of) his clothes to the chiseled planes of his body and blinking through trembling crystal (rain?)drops on his thick eyelashes…he looked less formidable persona and more just a person in significant need of care and protection. A professional lifetime of caring for the broken autonomically triggered her into action, and bolstered up her own level of composure. Recognizing that flippancy was his way of trying to regain control, she prodded him up and directed him inside. Canaan scolded him gently as he dripped his way over her floors while pausing to look around to make it seem as if it was the first time he'd been in her house (did he not think she knew he was in earlier to douse the lights?). Like any other man, he could be deliciously infuriating at times.

She led him through the long corridor of her bath, dropping their wet things in the laundry sink, grabbing her robe and a fluffy towel for her wet intruder. She began running hot water into her tub for him.

"Get in." Her best no-nonsense work voice.

"What, no company? Aren't you afraid I might drown unsupervised?" His tone and that insufferable affect were teasing, but she heard a darker aspect to the question behind the lilt. It made her pause a bit; she may not be the only one significantly off-center here after all. At the moment, she wasn't sure if that thought was comforting or terrifying. Perhaps both.

"Yes, well, it's a risk I'm willing to take. You were outside longer than I was - your fault, genius - and you're colder. In. NOW." Answering only the obvious seemed a far safer option.

Still protesting mildly, more to rebalance himself than anything else, he dropped the towel she'd given him, removed his shoes and the rest of his soaking wet clothes and stepped in the filling tub. Watching his lithe muscles glide under his skin as he moved, she was mesmerized as always by this stunning creature lethal in power and grace. Her quick intake of breath was nearly inaudible. Nearly. Of course he heard. When he turned with a quick flash of his eye and (so not playing fair) that hint of a hot smirk she just wanted to kiss off his face, she covered her agitation with activity. Fussing, admonishing him to turn off the water before it overflowed and turning on the bubbling jets of the tub for him, she left quickly, irritatingly accompanied by his deep chuckle. Closing the door behind her, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and shook the stars out of her head.

Out in the kitchen, she made hot tea and put together a little tray with warm broth, bread, butter and sliced apples. She smiled at her last choice; he wasn't the only one with a sense of humor. Taking the time to clear her mind she looked out into the storm. The rain was falling even harder now, pounding into the soaring glass. It felt like the walls of her home were living things…and she wondered what would become of those lives inside it. And how this strange chrysalis they were being wound in might be changing them…Pushing that precipitous thought out of her mind, she took her tray back toward the bathroom.

Lucifer had let his smug look drop away from his expression as soon as she had shut the door. He was cold, deeply…and he felt as if he'd only become recently aware of this fact. Odd. Wrung mentally and physically, he spread his arms out over the rim of the tub and rested his head back. The colors in the room were cool and fresh and the subtle reflections from the water played on the ceiling - quite a relaxing little spot she had. The storm painted the high windows in an ever-changing malleable patchwork of silver hues. The unobtrusively insistent sound of rain, the hot water of the bath and the low murmur of the bubbles finally began to soothe him. He closed his eyes. As Canaan was doing in the kitchen, he tried to quell the tumult in his mind and heart. Only the tension of his body was tempered, thanks to their dawn encounter. This sharing he found the easiest part of their strange rapport, and quite satisfying in his opinion. The fact that she had struggled so hard with this form of expression was difficult to fathom. He felt too precariously skewed to try now.

When Canaan re-entered the room the sight of his vulnerability in fatigue touched her. His eyes were closed, but his breathing pattern didn't look like he was sleeping. She banged the tray slightly as she set it down on the counter, giving him time to quickly put his guard up again, if he chose. He chuckled wryly over the apples and Canaan was more delighted with the pleasant sound that she wanted to admit. Less vehemently now, he teased her about the all the bath oils, scrubs and sudsy enchantments lined up on a little shelf near the tub as they ate and drank.

"I make these, actually," she said. "Here, chamomile would probably be good for you." Or for everything in this swirl of confusion; she wished she could just pour it straight onto her troubled psyche. Shame the two things weren't on the same plane of existence. Oh wait, there's a precedent for that already according to her soggy guest. Sighing at herself, she settled for just adding the decoction to his bath rather than her brain. She poured out a slender golden stream into the bubbling water and watched it dissipate quickly. Lucifer had been gently jibing her just to cover up any remaining unevenness in their interaction, but the liquid in the cut glass jar did smell good, and he breathed in deeply as the fresh scent wafted from the water. He found it intriguing that these were her creations; such a little tidbit of new information only served to layer her enigma further, not to distill any clarity for him. The additional olfactory comfort was even more appreciated by his jangled nerves when she tied up her hair, doffed her robe and slipped into the tub behind him.

Lucifer tensed, suddenly worried she would ask about or touch his scars. She had no idea what that did to him, and he felt too tired and raw for much of the required protest. His concern was needless: she did not even want to lay voice to the surface of that sensitive subject. Breath held, he watched her reach one slender arm around him for another jar, and he began to relax again as she ran her hands through his wet hair, lathering and massaging him. The resonant purr of relived satisfaction she heard made her grin.

"Not more bloody flowers, darling?" He stumbled a bit over the last word, such a previously easy epithet heretofore tossed freely, however as with some of his others he was finding it had newer, more focused meaning now. An unexpected trouble, that. She heard the tentative foray of deep affection through the rumbling accent, and her grin relaxed into a softer smile.

"No. Clove and some other pseudo 'manly whatnot' stuff". Facing in the same direction, they could not know the expressions on their faces were equivocal: two together simply thankful to take shelter from the current literal and figurative storm.

She tilted his head back to rinse his hair, pulling him gently to lean on her after. For a suspended time afterwards they were quiet. His arms returned to the sides of the tub and with his head resting on her shoulder his face was turned slightly away from hers, dark eyes half closed. Her arms were looped under his and over his chest, subtly caressing his body as he unfurled it against her. Almost as afterthoughts, she laid lines of small, musing kisses along his neck and shoulder. The overall effect on Lucifer was not sexual, and it wasn't intended that way. He felt safe and soothed by this person who was still so inscrutable to him. For the moment, he allowed himself to enjoy her gentle care without overthinking it, unselfishly aware the act was healing as much for her as for him. An oasis.

Finally feeling truly warm, inside and out, and a little apprehensive that they might actually drown if they did fall asleep in the water, he gently disengaged himself and stood up. Turning to take her hand he helped her rise, then effortlessly lifted her out of the water and picked up her thick cotton robe from where she'd draped it over the towel rack behind the tub. Tucking her into it, he tied the belt snugly around her waist.

"Safe enough, now." He smiled gently at her, with just a hint of a wickedly dark glint in his eye seasoning the expression.

"Hmm…maybe you're safe from me," she teased back.

"No love, I don't think I am, actually." The candor of his response surprised them both, and they both busied over the moment draining the tub and collecting the dishes.

"Well, I think your clothes are still a bit…"

"…unsuitable?" he quipped, looking at the damp heap on the floor with raised eyebrows.

"Plenty of towels, though – one size fits none". He chuckled again…that low contented rumble that tickled her heart. She handed him a fluffy stack and headed out toward the kitchen to put the tray and dishes in the sink, accepting defeat and just piling his wet clothes into the wash sink with the rest of their laundry debris on the way. Probably had to dry clean those gorgeous threads anyhow. Setting the dishes down and turning to ask him, she realized he had not followed her out. She went back through the door from the living room, looking down the open doors of the bath corridor. No Lucifer. Just the sound of the rain, settled into a steady rhythm now, with an occasional low rumble of thunder approaching. It was still fairly early in the morning, despite all the events that had transpired. For a brief second she wondered if he had disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared on her balcony earlier. When HAD he come anyway? And how had he known where to find her?

It was then she noticed the door to her dressing area was slightly ajar, and walking forward she could see the glow of her bedroom light beyond. Having never set foot in there last night to turn it on, she suddenly realized where he must be. The thought froze her in the doorway. He heard her, and called out.

"I'm exhausted, and the sound of rain is delicious. Come. Read to me until we're asleep". He was being deliberately petulant and commanding. He had no way to know how she felt about him being in here, her most cloistered space, again uninvited…but was fairly certain she wasn't thrilled. He also knew she would have to come in of her own accord, and not be carried or cajoled. He felt her hesitation keenly and her fears were his own. Of hard knowledge. Of not enough. Of starch newness. Of settling away a treasured past from another pathway. Of the birth pangs fully coming back to life entailed. Of each other. Of change. There (might be?) time and latitude to explore all that, but the first steps must be taken alone. He was already a little way ahead and looking back, waiting to see what direction she would choose.

Taking a deep breath, she rounded the corner of the dressing room and saw him lying on her bed, one of the white terry towels cinched around his waist. He hadn't even gotten under her covers, and for some reason this element of his self-control assuaged her fears somewhat. Canaan slowly walked toward him, his dark eyes fastened on her intently. The rain poured down on the skylight above, and a slow roll of nearing thunder boomed. A flash of lightening, even closer now. The bedroom windows and transom let in even more of the stormy morning light flooding over them; softly prismatic. Inhaling another slow, shaky breath she tread cautiously closer to his tentative expression of welcome. Straightening her shoulders, she crossed her arms over her chest. Thunder crashed. His fine brow furrowed, anticipating harshness in her words.

"You. Are. On. The. Wrong. Side."

The relief showing in the posture of his body and the genuine smile lighting up his eyes were mirrored in her own. Until she heard her own words aloud, Canaan had been fundamentally unsure of what she'd say. It felt a little like theirs were two lost souls…only instead of a lyrical fishbowl they had been swept out to her small shelter, stranded and suddenly required to learn to breathe air. The process was painful, thrilling and more than a little frightening. She swatted him over, and in chivalrous amusement he let her. Canaan climbed on the bed, turning back the covers to welcome him under with her. As she leaned over to grab some books off her nightstand (thank goodness for variety and her inability to have only one book in play at once – how in the world could she know what he liked to read to relax?) he made himself comfortable. Profoundly. He curled his long body around hers, his dark head in her lap, arms wrapped around her waist and legs. Again, she was reminded of how predatory he could seem, and yet simultaneously how she could feel so safe in proximity to all that power bristling just underneath normal perceptions. Not always safe maybe, but at least for right now.

She read her choice of literature aloud, as he had only mumbled sleepily when asked what he wanted to hear. Running her free hand over his damp hair in cadence with her voice, she left off the little caress only to turn the pages. The growls of objection Canaan heard each time she paused eventually softened, then ceased entirely as his body finally fully relaxed and his breathing deepened. Lucifer was sound asleep. She reached up to turn off the lamp, put her book down and leaned her head back on her pillow. Tired herself after her fitful rest the night before, she closed her eyes. The sound of rain and his steady breathing lulled her deeper and the unfamiliar warmth of him in her bed was satiating. Just before she fell away into sleep, her thoughts skated over medieval tapestries depicting unicorns laying in the laps of princesses. Not as if she thought of herself as royalty, and certainly no virgin, but she was still in awe of the wild creature seeking succor in her and their current position fit. Her hands drifted back to his thick, wavy hair. 'No horn. Or horns, plural, would be more apt, I suppose. Funny." Her breathing settled, and gradually matched his rhythm. The sound of the wind-driven rain carried them both through to a much needed, dreamless sleep.

After only an hour or so, Canaan woke. If anything, Lucifer had curled into her even more tightly, demanding even when unconscious, apparently. Soundly enmeshed in sleep he still looked wan with fatigue. Reluctant to disturb him, she extricated herself and silently stole to the dressing room to gather clothes. According to the skylight the rain had stopped and the rapid fluctuations of sun and shadow on her floors indicated that the clouds were beginning to rend. Dressing quickly in the comfort of a long skirt and long-sleeved tee in the hues of fall, she left her hair loose, smiling at the remembered appreciation on his face the first time he'd briefly seen it down on the rooftop. Padding over to her kitchen, she took the meager stock under assessment, and then realized that unless he was going to eat naked (which he probably would, hot smirk and all), Lucifer was going to need either more towels or some actual clothes to deal with the day appropriately. She set another pot of tea to steep and left it under a warming cozy with a 'Be right back' note on the counter in case he woke in her absence. She resisted the impulse to initial it with date and time…nursing habits were difficult to break. Little bit of normalcy in quite an abnormal scenario.

Taking the elevator down the doors opened to the lobby welcoming a chorus of iridescent sparkles of late-morning sunlight crackling over the wet landscape. Canaan was grateful to find no dings in the side of her car from the errant park job the night before; although there was a soggy 'Hope all is well?" note under her windshield wiper from her benignly affectionate senior neighbors. Stifling a fit of giggles over the idea of returning the kindness with a 'Yes, just in need of some mind-wiping sex: mission accomplished' reply she headed out into her little town to forage. Down the steep hill and just before Haven's entrance to the main street she saw Lucifer's gorgeous little coupe pulled off to the side of the road, spattered wetly with a decoupage of kaleidoscopic early fall leaf color. He must have followed her here….she had been so distracted she hadn't noticed. Which meant he'd been out on her balcony overnight…no wonder he was so cold and tired. Simultaneously perplexed and impressed, she found herself at her first destination without even realizing she'd arrived. She made quick work of her errands, hoping and (despite the present truce) being mildly irritated with herself over the quest to get back quickly before her big bad wolf guest woke. She wasn't a naïve child…why did it still feel like Christmas morning anticipation knowing who was in her home? Uninvited, after a spectacularly confusing argument no less. She should be more annoyed at the intrusion, but wasn't and with tangentially ellipsing logic, found that a little unsettling.

Returning home, she managed to bring her parcels from elevator to front door in one fell swoop. Gently opening the bedroom door, she peeked in. Lucifer was still asleep, but seemed to have missed her in the interim as he'd coiled himself around two of her pillows. Smiling, she set some of her recent purchases – the only ones to garner weird looks from the know-everyone's-beeswax small town clerks - on the desktop in plain sight. She covered the netherwear with steel grey linen slacks, and a light pullover of cobalt blue so deep it was almost black. These clothes looked so oddly masculine in her room…nearly as odd as the primal beast snoring lightly in her bed. Shaking her head at the incongruity of these images, she left the door slightly ajar and returned to the kitchen. Putting the staples away inside, she took what she wanted out to the little kitchenette on the balcony. The returning sun lent a friendly warmth to the fresh post-storm breezes, and she drank it all in with the view as her chalice and set herself to task. Steaks marinating, coals beginning to glow through their ash coats and sun tea melting ice in a pitcher, she was just tossing the salad when she heard the hinge creak. Canaan turned, tongs in hand, biting her lower lip in sudden reserve.

Lucifer was standing just outside the door squinting up to the brightening sky, dressed in his new clothes. The drape of the dark cashmere illustrated him beautifully as if painted when he raised his hands to rub through tousled slept-on-wet waves. He was still a bit pale; that coupled with his fuzzier stubble and dark eyelashes made him look more overgrown sprite than devilish; a wild innocent in sensible pants. She placed the tongs down, and the small movement immediately caught his eye, as did the veiled hesitancy of her white teeth on a rose lip. Her precipitous frets were groundless. Silent except for a warm hum in his smile he crossed the balcony quickly to come and gather her up. Resting his cheek on the top of her head he took in the details.

"What's all this, then?" Eyeballing the spread on the stone counter and the two place settings flanked with good silver and linen napkins on the table. The heavy glass pitcher of iced tea sweated next to deeply cut tumblers on a ceramic tureen.

"Late lunch. Hope you're not vegetarian?" Waving her hand over the steaks waiting for the grill.

"Certainly not. Love a good bite of flesh." Slightly toothy smile.

"Rare? Medium? It's pastured so anything more is a crime."

"Char over raw and bloody, please…" Even toothier smile – once again a ridiculously incredible blend of predation and gut-frazzling attraction. Whew. She devoted about three nanoseconds' worth of time wondering exactly how far in over her head she was with whom as she lowered the grates on the grill. She had no idea he was thinking the same thing about her. Avoiding the first spats of sizzle from the meat Canaan heard clinking behind her and turned to see him pouring out two glasses of tea in the tumblers he'd filled with ice.

"Anything stronger for this, love?" That word again. They both noticed and both pretended they hadn't. Smiling, she handed him a small dish of cut lemon from the little fridge. He screwed up his face and chuckled, "Not exactly what I meant." And then laughed harder when she brought over a bottle of honey saying, "Sorry, I don't do sugar. More a salty than sweet person."

"Truth in that, but debatable…." The little knowing glance he gave alongside the smile made her stomach flip and she turned away, ostensibly to turn the steaks but really to cover the blush. She was not some kid with a crush – why did she feel like one? "You had a hard night…" groaning to herself as she heard a deep cheery purr from the table – yes, she walked right into that one, "…out in the elements, dirty mind. Perhaps the first thing you put into your mouth should not be alcohol?" Then rolled her eyes at her own unintended innuendo as she turned to watch his light up further with a leering grin accompaniment.

"Mmhmm. What other options are on this menu? Oysters? A little surf with this turf? I find they make a delicious appetizer…and I'm an excellent diver…pearl-polisher as well, actually." He ducked and laughed as she threw a dishtowel at him with one hand while forking the steaks off the grill with the other. "And to clarify, I had a difficult night (the micro expression here was a painful flash; quite acute but as before gone so quickly she wondered if she'd seen it at all). I had a hard morning." The provocative way he rolled his beautiful voice over the word 'hard' flipped her stomach again, and she shot a chastising look at the lascivious expression he was daring her with. Recent events aside, this felt familiar. However…

"You're honestly impossible; you must know this." Setting the plates down in front of each.

"Just honest." Placing salad on their plates as she sat and pulled her chair in.

"Hmm. The question is in the degree of such, I think." Slightly pointed comment.

Lucifer set down the silverware he'd just picked up. "I'll answer any question you ask of me." He was being serious; she could tell by the way he looked somewhat apprehensive at his own offer. While exceedingly curious, she had her own trepidations. Trying to let them both off easy, she offered a weak dodge.

"Okay, why are you letting that steak get cold?" His arched eyebrow and pursed lip let her know exactly what he thought of her cop out. However, they were both hungry, and just eating together and balancing their enjoyment of fresh air and sunshine bathing the balcony by making small talk was very pleasant. Elsewhere, the term 'pleasant' had absolutely no place in word, thought or deed.


	23. Brimstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you were trying to pursue every avenue to prevent further pain in a cherished other, not simply for long loyalty's sake, but from deep affection - and you were chastised brutally for this…how might you feel? How could you feel…if the complete range of emotion was not available to you yet? If you were only learning…and the first crack of this punishment came from someone you'd unexpectedly allowed to become closer to you? How might you feel if you were the one delivering this punishment? And knew that worse might be coming?

"Let me GO!"

The outrage in the demon's voice screamed along every divine nerve the angel had. He stood silently across the room from her, back to the window and the storm behind him no match for the one on his face. Amenadiel was a warrior, a choice agent of deific power. And he was fearsome in this quiet fury.

He lowered his brows further at Mazikeen's efforts to free herself from the vise of his entrapment.

"Stop. This is futile action as you well know, little demon."

Despite her fear and frustration, Mazikeen bristled. How dare he mock her? She went still, seething…then turned to face Amenadiel with a cunning smile.

"You know, we could be spending this time together very differently, Mena…" She twisted in her spot on the couch, eyes lidded and smiling lips parted in apparent invitation. Resisting this restraint and working any angle to be free.

The response she got was neither the anger nor reciprocation she anticipated. With lowered eyes he addressed her.

"I am so very disappointed in you."

Her return was as angry as his. As frustrated as his.

"How…dare…you? How DARE you what…judge me? Slight me? I'm not LESS than you! Different yes, but so very? I am to protect him! Not simply because of what I am, but what I want. A duty I thought surely you might understand!"

He looked at her, mouth in a tight line and eyes glaring.

"Do you know…have any idea in that foolish head of yours the possible ramifications of what you did? What you might have done? You SHOWED YOURSELF to a HUMAN! How could you be SO reckless?"

"My foolish head? You mean this one?" Again, the demon's visage split, the schism between heavenly beauty and hellish fury a piercing contrast for both. Mazikeen was intentionally created with care and attention to the twin sides of Lucifer's reality at the time just after his fall: beauty and pain. The free will she was steeped in guiding her use of both to perform she deemed necessary, as now. Skewering him on her perception of his hypocrisy.

"See this, Amenadiel? THIS is ALL of who I am. No matter else…I AM this at my core…as I thought you knew."

She laughed bitterly as he turned away to face the storm outside the window. Glass sheeting with rain a half-inch from his face…all the sensory fury of the storm just out of reach with only the sight available to him. This was how he felt toward her just now – the monstrous sight of that rent and ragged countenance holding at bay the feelings he'd been experiencing.

Until she spoke again, her voice flaying him open.

"You're the same as she will be."

That voice throwing salt in the new wounds.

"You'll run as she has repeatedly. You'll break like she will. Break away like they all have when confronted by the merest glance of the totality of him. I just spared him the pain of further attachment. Bitterness of disappointment, as you said you have for me."

He was silent, thinking about these words. Hearing more than anger in them.

"Cast out, cast away because he didn't what, measure up? Like me for you? As your father's strict criteria for perfection? How many do, Amenadiel? How many instances of true flawlessness have you seen in all your time and experiences?"

"Vapid. Untried perfection."

Seething anger now.

"As if YOU'VE ever tried to grow beyond yourself. Hurt someone to save them from greater pain later? How can you possibly understand that? YOU CAN'T. So how dare you fault me? And when you run…as you certainly will….I'll never chase you as he has." She finally fell silent, furious. Convinced of her correct assessment by his refusal to face her. Minutes passed into hours and the storm began to pass.

Amenadiel looked up through the soaring glass of the windows, still beaded with the sluice of water and raindrops. Seeing the light breaking through, distorted yes, but present nonetheless.

"You're right."

She was stunned. Asked him to repeat himself.

"You're right, Mazikeen. And wrong."

She looked over at him, wary.

"You forget, I do know flaw. From the inside as well as out. Are you forgetting that I wanted so badly for Lucifer to return to Hell, what I nearly did to please our father? No…to please myself? Get what I wanted no matter the cost? Have you forgotten that?"

She was quiet, watching him for a time. Finally responding, her voice softer.

"I have not. Did you forget what Lucifer did after that?"

He came to sit beside her on the couch. "How could I? He forgave me."

Mazikeen looked at him, the beauty in her amber eyes perhaps more so because she chose to show it, he thought. Still struggled to grow despite the difficulty when it could be so easy for her to lapse simply into the fearful power she could command as the first and strongest creation of the First Son of God.

"I can't let you go, Maze."

They both knew he wasn't simply referring to letting her leave the office before Lucifer returned.

"What comes may well be painful and difficult, but where else could I possibly want to be?"

Same application to her words.


	24. Knots to Hang Onto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Devil's a bit of a benevolent dick.

[ - ]

"I'll notice you didn't return the option for me." They had finished and Lucifer was helping her gather the things from the table to take inside.

"What do you mean?" Knowing exactly what he meant. He cast her the same arched eyebrow/pursed lip expression. Canaan sighed. She did not feel adequate for anything more; barely so for what thin rime of new reality they were skirting on, so…"Do you want me to lie by omission?" Another feint. Pointed joke.

He arrested it. "You mean as you do to everyone else?" Wiping the shine of humor off.

That barb irritated her. "Would you like to clarify that?"

He was secretly pleased to see her react to him – it meant she still cared about what he thought and that she felt secure enough to show him the rarely seen less-than-polished facets of herself. And maybe they were returning to what passed for a semblance of normalcy between them? However the glowering glare she'd leveled at him was intensifying, and he had no wish to provoke her simply for the sake of doing so. "I mean, you hide in plain sight everywhere you go. Disappear like it's a trick you've practiced. How many genuine conversations do you actually have – have you had, Canaan – in the time you've been here?"

"I'll have you know I communicate. Very. Fucking. Effectively. My job and actual LIVES depend on that ability." Now she was angry, and wielded the hard snap to shut him down.

"And if you think that's what I mean then you're being either ignorant or foolish." Canaan's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed again in a cauterizing sear. Brushing past him she straight-armed the door to stalk back outside, coming to perch between the chaises on the edge of the little pool. Hiding in plain sight. She drew her skirt up so she could sink her lower legs in the water, swishing them to watch the refractions of sunlight ribboning through the pool as she tried to calm herself. Of course she understood his intended tangent, but the territory he was trying to breach lay riddled with dangers seen and unseen and she felt woefully unprepared to embark on that journey. Especially now.

After a few minutes she heard the door open again. Canaan felt him approaching and tensed, only to have a refilled tumbler of tea appear on the ground at her right side. She refused to turn her head to look, and heard one of the chaises creak as he settled back. Another shuffling clink as his tumbler came to rest on the little table between. For a few minutes the only sounds were the breezes gently catching in the pergola cover and the far-off cry of a circling hawk over the valley. She tried one last parry.

"Why do you care who I talk to – or don't?"

She heard an exasperated sigh. "You know I don't. I do want to know why you're existing muted."

"I'd hardly call working trauma seventy-plus random hours a week 'muted'."

"Please. It's the perfect camouflage. You're an intelligent person working in the midst of bloody horrors and you present with this inscrutable exterior. The factorial intimidations in that combination mean that you need not suffer idiots often, and the work leaves you exhausted and bludgeoned enough so you don't have to think. You're like a ghost. Not even using your real name." The deep voice which had begun strident and harsh softened over the last two sentences as he watched her shoulders stiffen.

She kept staring at the water. As he was speaking, her legs had stopped moving and her knuckles went white clenching the stone of the pool's edge. For such a long time she had been doing precisely as he described, and no one had ever challenged her. She hadn't let anyone close enough to care. Or feel they could ask. Going dormant in the banality of day to day demands was how she was able to sequester all the reasons she'd started. Until now. Her self-protection had taken years' worth of concerted effort to create and she had no idea how he was always able to deftly pry at the seams in that armor so easily. The bits he was wresting were painful (but not nearly so as others), and she was wary of his intentions – and her reactions. For so long this shell had been her staunch redoubt: control layered and honed with care and skill – now she felt trapped within it. Frightened of what was inside as well as out, and struggling not to suffocate in the narrow snare between. Lucifer lay still, just watching. Her internal skirmish was silent, but the currents of intensity eddying around her flooded him. He could feel so much pain…and considering that he hadn't wanted to yield what she'd recently learned but had…and still she could not trust him? Why?

Finally breaking the silence, shredding on her armor's cracked edges with the effort, Canaan augmented her last question to him. "Why do you care?" Each word soft, but enunciated clearly enough so all the meanings the phrase could take would be clear to him. One tentative step out.

She heard the chaise creak again, and small shuffling sounds behind her. The tea glass on her right was moved and she felt the warmth of his body surround her as his lower legs dipped into the pool outside hers (the noise was him rolling his new cuffs up). He clasped his hands together, laid them on the nape of her neck and folded his elbows over her shoulders - almost like wings. His breath warming the waves of hair covering her ear, she heard, "Because I can...and eventually might'll be good for us both." Just as she had done, he spoke so that each meaning the phrase could take was expressed clearly. Canaan recalled the conversation they'd had when they were discussing his Titian. She had no idea how she knew exactly what to say at the end, but he had understood her meaning implicitly although not the reasons for it. This was the same and they were both well aware of it. She believed him without completely understanding why, and the newness felt simultaneously alien and familiar. A rather novel déjà vu experience.

"So I'm to take you on faith…"

"It would seem so, yes...as I trusted you this morning, mind." Lucifer could not have been more surprised himself, not only as part of the process but as the catalyst. "There's a section in a little scribble with which you may be familiar - Hebrews 11:1 'Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen'."

"God, then. Really. This is a far more dimensionally detailed conversation then I feel up for at the moment."

"Quite agreed. He can be a bit much on even a mellow day." Lucifer was still rather thrown at this new wrinkle. He was not however, finished with her yet. She hadn't moved at all since he'd come to join her: downcast eyes staring at the water, fingertips clenched into the stones. He shifted his arms to cross over her chest, shielding her from herself and resting his palms on her shoulders. He leant his chin on one of his hands and just let her be, letting her feel the latent power in his presence as he had their first night together. Slowly, slowly she relaxed her grip on the wall as she allowed his strength to seep into her. She was grateful for this gentler form of intrusion.

Quietly she said, "I know what you're asking. I'm not ready."

"I understand." Acknowledgement seemed enough at the moment.

"I know you do. You have 'demons' to feed, too."

'Don't I, though. One in particular is going to be a right pistol to deal with later." He felt her snort and grinned a little the resilience that took. The irony of this damaged person being able to read the presence of his own hollows wasn't lost on him. It seemed every scrap of real comfort they found together meant discovering more injury as well. How deep the rabbit holes went were puzzled under mutually separate conjectures.

"I'm not not interested, either. In your offer. I'm just not..." here she gestured with one hand in an outward spiral, "…not enough yet to do it justice. I don't know when – or if - I can be. If that makes sense." It did, and he simply held her closer in response. He appreciated the honesty if not the words themselves and they sat together in more comfortable silence a few moments longer…until a harsh buzzing sound from inside broke the reverie.

"Are you burning dessert?"

"No – pager. Move." She practically levitated out of his grasp to bolt away. Back out in less than a minute with her bag and pulling on shoes she looked over at where he stood by the pool.

"I have to go…"

"Saved by the bell then, hey?" He wasn't ready for her to leave, certainly not so abruptly considering what she'd just said. But just as had occurred before Canaan was gone and he saw only Raene before him; injured warrior in broken armor off to battle the inevitably impossible.

"Yeah, something like. Listen, your shoes, your clothes…"

"….Are inside, yes. Don't worry, I'll leave and lock up as I do." The gift of clarity, space and privacy.

Wait…maybe Canaan was still here…striding over to him quickly, eyes warm. She laid a hand on his chest and pulled him in for a quick kiss. "You are…." Totally at a loss for words.

"'Wondrous'. That word you're looking for. Yes, yes, right, I know. Go on then, off you pop. Work your violent magic." He watched her rush through the door, savoring the unexpected spark of light in her eyes she'd cast at him. Suddenly he felt nebulously optimistic. What a strange mix she was; stronger than he'd seen in some unexpected aspects, terrifying degrees of fragility in others. Unconsciously summoning the same things out in him. Getting closer to her was tying him in knots and…all he seemed to want was to give her more rope to do it with.


	25. Foreshadow of the Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Devil's also a bit of a snoop...

[ - ]

Lucifer heard her inside door slam, and chuckled drily. For all her minute finesse and reduced stature she could be formidable on inanimate objects. He picked up the tea glasses, combining both and quaffing as he looked out over her balcony edge. From far away he could hear the faint wail of sirens carried up on the wind and a column of dark smoke plumed from a far section of the city. Whatever the mess was, it looked extensive enough to keep her occupied for quite some time. Shaking his head a bit at Canaan and those like her trying to fortify the dikes temporarily preventing the encroachment of disastrous entropy, he brought the glasses in to the kitchen and washed and dried the few dishes they'd used, smiling at himself as he did so. Domesticity in the service of others was not his forte. He simply wanted her to be able to walk in after whatever slew of calamity she'd assuaged to a neat space. And maybe a snack: for someone small the woman could eat. Must be the swimming. He rummaged through her fridge, assembled a sandwich and plated the leftover salad with it. Finding a small pile of post-its in the tumble of paperwork on her counter he drew her a smiley face with horns and stuck it to the wrap over the plate. Now he definitely did not feel like himself; however, what he did feel was not unpleasant – just very different. Not just attraction and interest, but a growing concern for the more minor aspects of another's well-being. Learning to look after someone in small ways rather than grand gestures. He rolled this novel thought around in his mind as he brushed the soft material of his new sleeve, appreciating more what it meant. Hmm. Leaning against the countertop he surveyed her home…and spying what certainly looked as if it wanted to be a liquor cabinet he ran his tongue under his lower lip and grinned. "Don't mind if I do…"

Lucifer felt the impending indignity of sopping wet shoes on the walk of shame down the long hill AND the likely vehement displeasure of dealing with Maze upon his return deserved at least two stiff drinks to fortify himself with. He siphoned the first in one long swallow and sipping at the second decided to take a good look around, unchaperoned as he was. Dad only knew when or if he'd be back. Her art caught his eye first, set comfortably into spaces on the walls where their additions complemented the views and bones of her structure. Some prints he recognized immediately. El Greco's View of Toledo, just as stunning as their conversation about it had reflected. Van Gogh's Starry Night, Wyeth's Wind from the Sea, Monet's Low Tide at Pourville along with several pieces from Ansel Adams and John Muir complemented smaller photographs and works. These other artists were unknown to him yet the wild, natural themes continued. He looked closer for signatures, and noticed that some of the pieces he favored had the same one; illegible though it was. He walked over to the single object on her fireplace mantle, fascinated. A beautifully fragile bowl in hues of peach, pink and deep indigo was laced with threads of gold between where the pieces had been broken and repaired. "Kintsukuroi…how very appropriate."

Turning at last to the desk and counter against the far wall he noticed the same conspicuous absence of any personal photos so commonly scattered around human homes. The only item on her desk without any obvious function was a small, flattened box made of copper. Picking it up, he noticed its heft in relation to its size. The deeply gorgeous blue greens of the patina were disturbed in only one spot; the center of the box's surface. Here the ruddy amber glow shone through as if it had been rubbed like a talisman…perhaps it had. He suddenly wondered if this is what she had been holding last night in front of the fire. Looking at it closer, it appeared to have no keyhole, but the construction was more subtly complex than offered at first glance (much like its owner, he mused). Perhaps it was a puzzle to open, again like its owner in more ways than one. He set it down gently in the same spot, before turning to the counter and immediately finding that the puzzles continued.

Spread over the countertop, laid flat so they hadn't been noticeable before were photographs. Under many were artworks in various states of medium and completion – vivid inks, charcoals, watercolor washes – even several jewel-bright stained glass pieces laid out on a line drawing pattern. Each of the photos was uniquely angled, inimitably different perspectives of seemingly normal scenes, but the work underneath each made the original image pale in comparison. The level of detail and imaginative dexterity in nuance, shade and perspective made the created images vibrant and whole in a way reality lacked. One piece in particular drew him in. Laid out on matting to be cut, it was a spell-binding play of light through color. It had no corresponding photograph from which to tell its origin, but the wash of what looked like sun on water, through glass and reflected skies rendered it stunning enough to enjoy as an abstract, although he suspected that it was based in reality as the others. This one had a signature. An illegible one. Just the same as his favorites on her walls did. Lucifer sat down hard on the low stool in front of the counter, astonished at this denouement of revelation. These were her creations. Why, if she could translate such beauty from her mind and hands into the world, would she decide to throw herself repeatedly into that miasma of carnage for her life's work? Having left the wreckage of such a place himself - though on a far grander scale, and in a far darker role - he could not understand why anyone would choose it willingly. Absolutely confounding. He'd begun looking around to get a better sense of her, and found himself shunted away, keeled further off course than before. He decided he needed to pour a third drink before looking at her books.

To his relief, these were more enlightening and entertaining. And quite similar to some of his own. Despite her reticence to discuss it, she did seem to represent most major religions in her collection, along with a few surprises. Dead Sea Scrolls and Celtic megalithic anthologies, hey? Philosophy had a huge representation including an alphabet soup of names from the analytic, phenomenologists, existentialists, humanists…and more. Just about every major work and a few really obscure ones. He'd expected the well-thumbed tomes of nursing and medicine, and the hard sciences of biology and chemistry. He was a bit more surprised to see physics, especially several narratives on quantum, string and 'brane theories. Hawking, Greene, Feynman, Kaku, Sagan and others interspersed with the poetry of Hughes, Blake, Whitman, ee cummings and their ilk – she seemed to have a penchant for the Anglo-Irish particularly. This made him smile. Novels of most genres, classics to contemporary. Documentary-style books on everything from gardening to metalwork. Shelley's Prometheus Unbound and both of Milton's Paradise books rested on the top of one bookshelf, as if they'd been recently reviewed. His eyes narrowed…interesting. Several comic series and graphic novels rubbed cheek to jowl with the more whimsical stuffs of Silverstein, L' Engle, Kipling and other smart kid lit, which he found odd since despite the faint 'tiger stripes' on her torso she'd never mentioned children. Contemporary literary magazines and a good slew of science fiction omnibus editions rounded all this out. What a tapestry words must have woven for her! No wonder she didn't have to talk much out in the world: she was probably far more entertained with what she had stocked in her head.

He walked into her bedroom to straighten her covers. Leaning his nose toward a pillow he was fluffing he could still catch the scent of her on it, and he breathed in deeply, recalling how comfortable it had been to fall asleep with her. Actually sleeping with someone after a tryst wasn't his habit, but it had felt so…appropriate. The pile of books on her nightstand was an eclectic minutia of her shelves elsewhere. She'd read to him this morning from de Saint-Exupery's The Little Prince, but apparently it could have easily been Wilde, Attanasio, the latest issue of Harper's or carpentry how-to's. He shook his head. He felt as if he were doing that quite a lot lately when he thought of her.

Finding a small overnight tote in her closet to put his damp things in, he walked out one last time to her balcony looking over at the afternoon light falling into early evening. It would be growing dark when he arrived back, probably not as deep as the coldness of what was sure to be Mazikeen's welcome, but some things just couldn't be helped. He ran his hands lightly over the cooling stones of the thick wall, silently reflective. For a moment he felt the same as he had last night, the solemn space of quiet replacing the jangle of error he'd been so long accustomed to. He glanced up, for once not caught in overthinking or defense. Just looking at the changing light of the sky. It was a beautiful transition. This he could now appreciate even if he did not yet understand. And as soon as the thought formed, he felt a quiet warmth settle over him; a light cloak against the coming chill of the early October evening. Not wanting to ruin the brief feeling of serenity with overzealous introspection, he set about leaving. Making sure her gates and doors were locked and leaving the small lamp in the kitchen on to greet her he ensured the front door was fastened behind him. He paused briefly, standing in the shaft of sun angling from the skylight overhead, palm flat to the warm wood thinking of all that had transpired beyond it. Taking the elevator down to the lobby he was met with two very wizened and puzzled expressions as the doors opened.

"Why hello there, young man…you must be Ms. Canaan's….?"

"Plumber. Yes." Patting the small tote slung over his shoulder. "I've banged her pipes into good working order and she should be right as Raene from now on. Well overdue, I'd say. Cheers, ladies." Snickering a bit at his trick he left Canaan's elderly neighbors to gape in wonder after him.

"Well, the help are dressing quite a bit better nowadays than I'd have expected."

"Oh yes. Though I don't think I'd have minded to see that one's pants droop a bit!"

"No wonder she parked a mess, must've been distracted - poor thing." Each laughing at her sister, the little ladies entered their own elevator, resolving to get this man's number from their quiet neighbor…just in case they ever needed it.


	26. The Difference Between Breaking and Breaking Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lest we also forget that Lucifer isn't some mere sap. In this A/U, Maze gets her version of bad @$$ery right from the more refined bit he shows here.

[ - ] 

The calm spanning pensiveness and peace Lucifer had left Canaan's house under had altered on his trip back into the city. Still silent, greeting the manager at the main desk entrance with a simple, terse smile (daring him to even think of noticing his altered style of clothing or damp shoes) he strode down the echoing marble to key his private elevator combination. During the long ascent he rolled his neck, flexed his shoulders, lowered his chin and tightened his jaw. As the doors slid open to the corridor the stillness in him was not peaceful, but one of carefully constructed predatory anticipation. And the set of light eyes that met his in the hallway were not the ones he expected to see first, but no matter.

"Amenadiel. Greetings brother, hope your evening passed well. Thanks ever so for the visit, but I think I can take this from here, providing of course the lady in question is still present? You've not absconded with her out of some misplaced gallantry have you now?"

"Lucifer…" Amenadiel began slowly, wanting to talk to his older brother before he met minds with his demon. Wanting to give the point of view she had shared with him…one she probably either could not express or would not be allowed to very shortly.

Lucifer met the placating tone with a raised palm and sneer of disgust. He'd already heard enough…this naïve angel had had his sentiments bent and twisted around Mazikeen's whims, just as she'd done to him over the past week, cumulating in that rather spectacular display….He almost had to admire the audacity of the action, foolish though it had been. And just how foolish she'd soon find out. Punishment, adequate appropriate punishment badly needed meted out…perhaps he'd let his brother watch. Remind him a little of all the First Son was in case he got any inkling to be worked over by any future application of Mazikeen's scheming.

"Save your breath, brother. We both know how very, very dangerously that sort of play could have gone…being a stickler for deific decree such as you are I'd have thought to have seen you more angry at her defiance – not of mine, though she'll surely pay her price for that – no, of our father's edicts. Dear old dad isn't such a fan of we supranaturals crucifying the minds of his mortals though he seemed remarkably tolerant of them doing that to his youngest son's body here, did he not? Her own disclosure aside, what she did, outing such a one as myself…could you imagine his reaction to that larger detriment upon these poor creatures? Couldn't that have thrown a right large wrench in the works? Come to think on, perhaps that would be a hoot…the old sod may even yet speak to clean that mess." He laughed here, cruelly and the sound chilled Amenadiel to the core.

"But perhaps your sense of propriety has waned in your time with us here on this plane? As it had in the past, mind. Rule-bending, plotting mayhem and fratricide in case you'd forgotten. Thought lessons learned there were taken to heart well, no? Ah, perhaps not. How very disappointing…"

"Lucifer. Stop. I know how dangerous that was." Hearing the sarcastic lash in Lucifer's last phrase just reminded him of his own initial tone toward Mazikeen. Perhaps she could make the fallen angel see her perspective as she had him…though Mena knew it was more his nature and sentiment toward her to be forgiving. And he'd been simply angry at her action…by the vitriol in this response, Lucifer had more to lose. Mena wondered if he realized…blinded himself to all of it.

"What, brother? I see confusion stirring in those lovely golden eyes of yours…deep thinking doesn't suit you. Out with it."

"I was simply speculating…" Mena paused, annoyed, yet unsure of how or if to broach this concern.

"Yes, yes? Time pressing on…much to accomplish yet this evening."

The warrior sighed, stepping forward to Lucifer, shouldering up to him as his older brother started grinning. Like his earlier laugh, the expression was chilling. Mena let his voice go soft, not backing down, just wanting to be heard effectively.

"I am wondering if you've thought through all the potential ramifications of this…attachment. Considering how the others went."

Lucifer's predatory grin widened until all his teeth were bared and his eyes gleamed with sinister light. His own voice a soft hiss, he leaned into Amenadiel's ear. "That's what you think this is about then? Charming. You fear for my well-being do you? As my demon says she does. How dear. How sweet. Well brother, let us just see how 'attachment' may indeed render us soft and weak, shall we then?"

Sweeping past Amenadiel, Lucifer strode into the room, not rushing, nor prolonging suspense for the watchful demon sitting on the same corner of the couch he'd left her on. Mazikeen had heard the exchange in the hallway, but knowing Lucifer as she did, it was his affect that would be more telling than words. Without even a glance at her, he opened the liquor cabinet and filled a single finger's width in his tumbler before sitting down in the large chair behind the desk. He swiveled away from her, taking a small sip as he looked westward into the glaring spokes the setting sun turned through the buildings below.

Silence. Her heart sank.

Amenadiel came to lean in the entranceway. He'd not been invited in, yet no attempt had been made to run him off. For that he was partially surprised. Lucifer and Mazikeen had a long, sometimes complicated history and he had been certain his brother would want to deal with such a flagrant error privately. He had even begun to construct arguments to stay, but…nothing.

He was shocked when Lucifer began to address him, not Maze and inadvertently spoke over what she had started with. Her voice, strong but small under his, finishing what she'd started "….please, let's talk…here, let me get another glass and the bottle from last night..." Back still to them both, Lucifer swung the hand holding his tumbler toward Amenadiel's position in the doorway, holding up one finger - 'wait'.

Without turning to face his demon he simply said. "No need for you to trouble yourself. This won't take long…and I do believe I've lost my taste for that spirit. Shame really, such an expensive, intensively crafted concoction with complex notes. And was only improving as time went on… Such a waste." His last three words fell into the still air of the room like the deafening silence accompanying the first blinding light of a thermonuclear reaction. Explosion begun but damage and violent sound on hold for one brief crack of time.

"Lucifer, you can't mean…"

And then the thunderous noise comes to rend and distort reality forever, changing the very inner workings of those who might survive the initial blast….

"Be silent." The words were still quiet but the dark intent of them clogged her mouth and landed in the demon's ears with the sharpness of her daggers. She looked over at Amenadiel, horrified. She'd expected wrath, violence; was prepared for those…not this cold steely dismissal.

Lucifer spun back to his brother. "I need a favor if you would, please. A little trip to bring me back something I'll need and cannot get myself. You can take her with if she'd like." Flashing a glance to Mazikeen. "She's been on to go home for so very, very long, haven't you my sweet? Never missing a chance to rail against me for denying you that opportunity have you?" Amenadiel's eyes narrowed, puzzled as he watched the dark angel's closed face. What could he possibly….? No. This was…unprecedented.

The Devil watched him carefully, a thin wire of a smile slicing his mouth as he saw realization dawning in the golden eyes.

"Brother…"

Cutting him off with the turn of his body, Lucifer finally faced his demon, stunned into silence in the corner of the couch.

"You'd had such a short time for your new lessons here, Mazie mine." The endearment now was hollow and fragile, and as he crushed it the broken edges cut her open.

"It's been such a challenge for you, has it not? So very difficult? So hard to feel as if you don't belong where you find yourself, that you don't quite fit isn't it?"

"Lucifer, yes, I wanted to go home, us to go home…but…"

He ignored her words, talking over her. "Such a brief time to learn all this newness indeed. And it's been so hard, yes? Such a struggle. Such combative friction between us for so long, Mazikeen."

She lowered her head. He was right; caught between growth and the fear of it she'd lashed out at him repeatedly despite his efforts, knowing how strong he was, that he'd never stayed angry with her. Not being as sure of herself with Amenadiel as she'd thought she was with Lucifer she been reluctant to express this ire to Mena, thinking that he would consider her discomfort with the process a rejection of what newness he was offering her. And she'd left Lucifer alone so often in the last years, refusing to participate in much he asked, not understanding anything but that it was somehow important to him should have been enough. She sighed, the abrupt realization of this hard to take. She had been giving usually bitterness when they were together…no wonder he thought it was out of malicious spite she'd tried to hurt that human, rather than trying to protect him. No wonder he had the sheer time to develop anything in the first place to worry her! Had she brought this all on by herself? No no no…

These were words he was saying, too. "No, no, no Mazikeen. We're not quite done here. Pay attention now. What were the first lessons you learned? Traits comprising the very structure of your being? Come now, surely there's not been such new ground covered you've forgotten?"

"Loyalty, protection, fealty." Her voice was quiet, spun in her own thoughts. Admiration was one she'd added though she did not mention. For so very many reasons…

"Yes, the things I needed most after the fall, aside from companionship. Have you shown me these recently? Did you last evening? Answer truthfully."

"I've tried, Lucifer. I…"

"No no, that dodge was enough. Do you know, Mazikeen, what I've gotten from your recent lessons? Don't answer my dear, it's rhetorical. I remembered how much I bridled when I felt strained by my own to learn, by my own nature to circumvent what was expected and stretch to do so. Such burden…and look where reacting to that got me." Lucifer started laughing, the cold, quiet brittle laugh that ground further into the wounds in the demon's ears. He'd never taken this degree of tone with her, never treated her as less and this pain, this punishment was new.

"I'd not wanted to visit that dismissal on you, wanting to keep you as I'd not been kept. But perhaps that was cruel of me. Selfish of me. Shortsighted, even, Can't say that would be the first time for those attributes to flare their ugliness in me now would it?"

"Lucifer please don't…please."

"You have your freedom Maze. Do with it what you will. Just do it elsewhere."

"NO! You've always let me make choices, decide as much as I could for myself! I followed you out willingly! I've been here willingly with you for this last span of time where you've been trapped!" She raged at him, aghast.

"No, I don't think so actually. You were made for specific purposes and while the apparent freedom to choose was there - as you were, as you were made you could not see any other way to be. But now you might, learning new things as you may. Lessons I can't, or won't or haven't taught you. Learning as we all do, or can if we struggle far enough." Thinking of another struggling. As himself.

"Go, Mazikeen. With him…" he nodded at Amenadiel, still frozen against the doorframe watching the violent expressions flooding her face.

"…or go alone. You've never really been alone, have you darling? Might be a good thing to experience. I hear a forty Earth day stint is the standard. Might give you time to remember that first, most important lesson I taught you. That one you didn't mention."

She could only stare at him, destroyed.

"Free will, Maze. First and foremost in importance."

"I won't leave you alone."

He smiled as he began to rise from the chair, that slow grimace that began with a hard line etched in flesh and ended with all teeth exposed and eyes glittering with hints of crimson fire. His voice was that of the fallen angel, softened with ash and destruction, not care.

"Oh, but you shall…for you see? I've free will as well, my dear. And I'll not suffer further with you now. Get out."

She rose, dazed. Barely listening to Lucifer as he asked Amenadiel to bring his favor to safe harbor…walking toward the door and hallway beyond as his last words scoured her ears.

"Never fear, Mazikeen…as if you could be capable of such refinement. True independence isn't all bad. Perhaps you'll take the opportunity to rise as I have not."


	27. Time Passages (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time may not heal or smooth all things (especially as we'll see in a chapter with the same name a little later), but it gives a wonderful gift: perspective. A little risqué in one spot.

[ - ]

As the weeks following stretched into early wintertime, their tentative detente held. Lucifer respected her need for some mental space (requiring some of his own as well to deal with newly required acclimations), and there was no extracurricular contact between them. No electronic check-ins, either. Their paths did not cross often naturally and although busy, Canaan found herself missing her mystery dearly; even looking forward to the dry bi-monthly fiscal project meetings where he might be present. Surrounded by others, they only spoke to each other with the professional detachment and frosty civility one might expect from tertiary business acquaintances…until a small touch or quick look was exchanged 'under the radar' as it were. It wasn't enough. She didn't know what she wanted, but knew this wasn't it.

After the early December meeting in which the senior board members made their time-sucking self-satisfied speeches and thanked 'their philanthropic friends' for all their financial giftery that year Canaan had had enough. As the session wrapped and she was yet again heading out the door in the press of colleagues getting back to the grind she turned to look back. Lucifer stood with some of the 'fat cat catchers' at the tepid coffeepot duly listening to them make noise at him. Even mildly annoyed he was pretty. Enough. Excusing herself, she stepped back into the room, approaching the gaggle.

"Pardon me gentleman, ma'am. Sorry to interrupt – I realize you're all so very busy. Important end-of-year management can be a difficult challenge, I know. Mr. Morningstar, I was wondering if you had a moment to lend an ear…" Her voice was icily polite but Lucifer didn't miss a drip of the sarcasm that drizzled imperceptibly over their heads. He nearly choked on his coffee. Recovering, he replied, the twinkle in his eye scarcely veiled.

"Certainly. Excuse me please, everyone, won't you? If the lady who doesn't often string three words together says more than three sentences I'm sure this will be worth listening to. Shall I walk with you then? I'm certain you're far too busy for anything other than work." She twitched an eyebrow at his dig and watched as he covered his smile with a grimace at the last mouthful of quality clinical coffee.

Eyeballing each other with barely restrained laughter they beat a hasty exit back toward the medical building corridor. Canaan really did have to get back into her professional day and she was becoming even more techy as every single person they crossed paths with seemed to 'need just a second' from him. Seeing her poorly concealed impatience just pleased him more. Turning the corner of the last hallway before the trauma wing their path was finally clear. Leaving nothing to chance, Canaan caught Lucifer by the sleeve and slung him through the storage door she'd quickly opened. Locking it behind her she turned to look at him. Eyes wide, brows racing up his forehead he did a wonderful impression of someone querulously affronted as he straightened his suit jacket.

"Well, if you were that much in a rush we could have made an appointment sooner to discuss your 'proposal' Ms. Raene…" His words trailed off in a muffled snicker as she reached up to clamp a hand over his smirk. Mischievous eyes gleaming, he opened his mouth to lick her palm.

"Bad!" As she yanked her hand away, laughing, he bent and twisted to swing her up and plunk her unceremoniously on a tall box, nearly eye level with him. Now he was the one suddenly impatient. He spread her knees apart and leaned in hard, sliding both hands under her collar. Pulling her face to his and lifting her jaw with his thumbs he whispered thickly…

"As I've said before, hardly ever….although perhaps it's been so long you've forgotten?"

Moving too quickly for a reply he swept his mouth to hers. For a minute or two she allowed herself to get lost in the hungry kiss – no, she certainly hadn't forgotten. Anything. Including the fact that this felt wonderful, all of it – the humor, sneaky teases of hiding themselves in plain sight, his touch: all this was like unexpectedly coming home….Unfortunately, it did not negate the harsh reality of her afternoon full of rounding surgical patients on tap. Gently pushing him away as he was just beginning to let his hands wander, she placed a finger on his lips to still the protest she could see coming.

"I have to go, now. But I do want to see you."

"You could see a lot more of me in the next few minutes if you don't go."

"Tempting." It so was.

"Yes, I'm all about that as you might surmise…" trying to reel her back in. Oh bloody hell, so embarrassingly stimulated he was afraid of spilling through his clothes just being this close to her. Wouldn't that make for a sticky walk from this infernal closet?

"I'm being serious!"

"As am I." Wickedly sharp smile. Wickedly sharp twinge in his trousers from watching her cheeks flush. Ouch.

"I mean really see you. Just – away from here." Loose hand gestures indicating the hospital.

"Well, you're the one with the hellish schedule. Shocking really; one would think it would be the other way 'round."

The words were out of her mouth before she even had time to think. "Well, I am owed some time before the new year. 'Use or lose'."

He smiled at her like a diabetic offered candy with an insulin chaser. "Really?"

"Yep."

"When?"

She completed a few mental gymnastic scheduling calculations. "Weekend after this one?"

"A whole weekend?" It was hard to read his tone and expression in the romantically-challenging- seizure-inducing flickering light of the storage closet. She began to backpedal, embarrassed. "No, of course not – I'm just owed seventy hours off call and when you do 24's it's easier to schedule in a lump..." She trailed off, wondering if she'd just made a huge error in judgment. Since the fierce events they'd shared awhile back no discussion on any number of difficult topics was broked. His proclaimed identity. Her lack of disclosure for same. His lifestyle. She'd just assumed he'd continued to unleash himself on unsuspecting citizens at whim and had completely compartmentalized her reactions to that, having no idea how wrong she was. As for the other…literally beyond cogent thought for her to process. So she'd locked that up, too. He kept her secrets and was absolutely with her when with her and had made no further mention of what his name implied. Canaan had decided that was enough since she didn't want anything more from anyone, especially him. Yes. That's right. Sure. Trying to recuperate she prattled on, "...just, you know, dinner or something. I know you're busy as well. So..." She could not believe how ridiculous she sounded to herself.

She felt his hands on hers, gently stroking. "I'd love dinner. And 'something'." His grin here was a heart-walloping combination of naughtiness and pure excitement. "Get your time. I know a great place. Bit out of the way but well worth it. I'll set it up and send you details, all right?" He was nearly vibrating with anticipation and it was hard not to catch a few of those butterflies herself.

"All right." She felt the same schoolgirl flush in her cheeks she'd had with him before. So unsettling. Lucifer helping her off the box by sliding her down over the disturbance in his body was even more so.

Biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from throwing them both up against the wall: bollocks and bugger with the resulting sticky clothes, he was proud of the fact that he spoke in complete sentences, "You're sure it can't be this weekend? Or now, even? Now would be great for me." Slightly ragged tone to his teasing.

"Mmm, I wish." She really did. That raw desire in his eyes was doing really disturbing things to her equilibrium.

Peeking her head out of the doorway to make sure the coast was clear she looked back at him with a 'hurry up' gesture. The sight of him buttoning his jacket low and adjusting his trousers made her grin. Once they were back out in the hallway she murmured under her breath, "I feel like a recalcitrant child."

Rubbing his hands together he whispered back. "Adjective yes, noun no. You certainly do not 'feel' any less than all woman. Hard to hide the evidence of that, I can tell you."

"Well, if you didn't have such an 'expressive personality' it would be easier to conceal."

"Perish the thought. Bite your tongue."

Sticking the tip of hers out the corner of her mouth at him. "That's your job."

They cut their eyes at each other and bit back snickers just as more talking heads turned the corner, saw Lucifer and shifted course to intercept. Leaving him to the mercy of the nattering crowd, Canaan headed toward the glass doors of the trauma entrance. She heard a richly accented voice following her.

"Oh, Ms. Raene?" Uh-oh.

She turned back with an enigmatically polite expression on her face and a 'don't you dare' glare in her eye.

"Thanks ever so for your proposal. Sounds wonderful. Can't wait to start working on it with you."

"Same. I appreciate your time."

"My pleasure." There was just enough emphasis on his last word for her to flash a brief 'quit that!' look, to which he just smiled infuriatingly.

Canaan was glad that the acuity of the post-ops was somewhat lower than normal as she'd found it markedly more difficult to concentrate that afternoon than usual after a board session.

Those ten days staggered by with all the speed of osteoporotic turtle doped with Thorazine. There was so much work to do, but each day seemed longer than the last. Canaan was supposed to in the clear by noon on Friday, but the weather was turning poor. Cleaning up the minor bumps and lumps from people trying to rush their errands before the storm really set in threw her departure back to nearly mid-afternoon. Lucifer had texted her an address days earlier: she wasn't familiar with it and hadn't had time to look it up. Finally finishing with her last patient and bolting free from the hospital tentacles she sat in the parking garage letting her car warm up. After looking up the map location on her phone she whistled. Out of the way was right. This might be bad. She scrolled through her contact list and found his number. It seemed so odd to be nervous to talk to him this way considering what else they'd done, but she was. Vocal electronic communication just wasn't her sort and didn't seem to be so for him either. Oh well, no time like the present. As it rang, she watched the snow falling faster. Fantastic.

"Hello to you." It was so strange to hear that voice without seeing his face.

"Hi it's me," Redundant idiot. The man clearly had functional caller ID. Recovering. "…just getting out now…" She heard him huff.

"Bit behind?"

"Yes, if you'd like. Before or after we eat?" Static-y laughter from the other end.

Lucifer became more serious, "Have you been out since you arrived this morning? The weather is turning nasty…perhaps we should postpone." His voice fell slightly on the last phrase, and she smiled at the concern.

"I'm looking at it now. I'll be fine – grew up in strong winters and four-wheel-drives' a blessing. Now this place better be as wonderful as you say though…considering it's in East Guam." Teasing him.

"You'll love it. Very attentive staff. Great food. Lots of atmosphere."

"Hope there's a spot to change – I ran out so fast I'm still in scrubs."

"Just come. And be safe."

"No worries. I have zero intention of coming back as an emergency. Irritating enough here sometimes when I'm paid. Want me to pick you up on the way…wherever you're at?

"No, thank you, I'm close by. I'll be waiting.

"All right. See you when."

Hanging up she was just getting ready to unzip her jacket in the warming car when her phone beeped again. New message. From him. Now what? When she opened it the message was simply an attachment and two icons: a smiley devil face and a musical note. She opened the attachment and saw a rather extensively varied playlist. He'd sent her traveling music: the modern version of a mix tape. She smiled to herself as she sent back a quick 'rocker' icon and a steering wheel, and set her phone in the cradle to listen. 'Flesh and Bone' by The Killers got her on the highway and Rush's 'Vital Signs' was a fun follow-up to occupy her until she could get past the salt truck cavalcade. Not a bad way to start the clash with snowy roads.

Occasional entertaining fluff but mostly obscure jazz, rock, blues and some extremely random indie stuff brought her through twilight and into darkness. The location was well past her own exit on the highway west, deeper into the craggy portions of the mountains. The snow never let up, turning from fat flakes to icy needles in her headlights and the drifting was getting bad on the twisty switchback roads. She trusted herself and her little 4WD hatchback, but was also glad of her emergency roadside kit just in case. What probably should've only taken an hour or so took nearly three. Finally seeing her destination on the screen allowed her to unclamp her fingernails from the steering wheel. Where was this place? The last tiny hamlet she'd passed was several miles back. Slowing as she approached her 'you have arrived' spot on the screen, she saw no sign, no lights…no nothing. Tired from concentrating and somewhat apprehensive she stopped in the middle of the narrow road. Arrhythmic lines of evergreens shivering off their snows under the gusts on one side, steep drops promised beyond the rather puny looking guardrail on the other. That gave her a sharp quail and she locked her mind tighter, refocusing. Nothing here except wind and weather. What the…

Doubting the feasibility of this option, she tried the cell. She was surprised to get reception and even more surprised to hear Lucifer's near frantic "Where are you?!" after barely one ring.

"Here, according to the electronic dot. But reality reflects the middle of a never-ending snowstorm miles past the last lights adorning a really sketchy gas station. Where are you?"

"No, no…tell me what you see."

"Big ass evergreens on the left and a bigger, assier cliff on the right." Whenever she was tired or stressed her vocabulary faltered.

Relief in his voice. "You're fine. You are, right? Not bogged down to the boot in snow?"

"Nope. Sitting pretty in the middle of the road, talking to you." She did feel better talking to him. Shouldn't, since it didn't change anything about waiting in a little car in the middle of nowhere, but hearing his voice was comforting. His next words were even more so.

"You're almost here. Keep going, there will be a sharp curve and break in the trees. Turn left and go through the gate and up the hill. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Okay. You're buying the first round after this fiasco, smartypants." She heard him chuckle.

"With pleasure. Now get a move on."

Recradling the phone, she eased the car back into forward motion, sticking to the middle of the road where the wind had scoured away most of the snow. Sure enough, about fifty feet ahead there was a gap in the evergreens and she turned in. An incredibly ornate iron gate set in huge boulders was wide open, and the narrower twisting drive climbing the slope beyond was nearly clear. Passing through she could just make out a metal sign set in the stone. "Eile Sábháilte" French? Gaelic? She had no idea what that meant. But if this lonely restaurant was actually open on a harsh evening such as this she didn't care. Pulling up the last curve of the driveway she could barely make out the gate closing lower down and ahead a beautiful structure of glass, metal and stone nested at an angle into the steep hill. No other cars outside, but the place was lit up in a golden glow; a welcome lighthouse in the fierce storm. Peering ahead she could see three garage doors on the lowest level, and the near one was opening as she approached. Perplexed, she pulled in. She did not see Lucifer's coupe, but there was a rather formidable looking truck and an ice-crusted Bobcat in the other spaces. What the…?

Canaan got out of her car, tossed her phone and keys into her bag and gave herself a huge stretch. She swore she could hear creaks; must've been wound tighter on that trek than she thought. Just to her side were two steps up to a closed interior door. Seeing no other options she set her bag on the top step and her hand on the knob just as the door opened inward. Instead of looking up to see dark brown eyes, she was met by icy blue ones staring right at her face. A preternaturally enormous dog assessed her with keen intelligence. She was entranced. It looked like a brindle-coated economy-sized wolf; resplendent in cream, gray and brown striations. Dark eyelashes bordered the forever blue and it felt weirdly like the animal could see straight through her. Even more weirdly, she did not find the feeling unpleasant. "Wow. You are beautiful. Dogs and men get all the good lashes. Mascara company conspiracy, clearly." Her greeter nosed at her, sniffing, then flattened the top of his giant head on her chest, clearly asking for a scratch behind the ears. She was more than happy to oblige, digging her hands into the thick ruff. "Hey gorgeous, do you have opposable thumbs, too? Or an automatic door? And where's the maître de? What's a girl go to do to get a drink in this joint?"

"She needs only to come in." A familiar voice in an unfamiliar setting. She looked past the fuzz to see Lucifer standing beside the door, smiling at her. He was uncharacteristically unrefined-looking: hair slightly tousled and wearing the dark cobalt cashmere she'd gotten him along with the grey linen pants and sock feet. Adorably sexy. Mercy. She suddenly felt a tumultuous mix of butterflies and shyness blossom, realization belatedly dawning that this must be his house - or one of them. Hiding her reaction with attention to the animal pawing a 'keep petting' message on her shoe she asked, "Who's your huge friend?"

"This is Cearrebus. Seems to like you." His voice sounded a little worn and she looked at him closer – he had been worried. Covering for him and herself as well, she looked at the dog. "Of course he does. I probably smell like work – that's a smorgasbord of 'eww' for us and 'splendid!' for him. And 'Cerberus', really?"

"No, no…'Cearrebus': your Greeks mucked that up. Among other things. And yes, what else could he be called, considering?" At the sound of his name repeated, the giant dog turned to run his head under Lucifer's hand, then back behind Canaan, nudging at her.

"Clearly he's shy with strangers." She grinned as the animal sat down and literally smiled back over at her, showing off long sharp teeth and a pink tongue.

"He's never met any. You're the first getting a proper introduction."

"You do realize that every single time we speak I'm more baffled."

He dropped his head and snorted. "I feel the same way. But I promise, no heavy lifting for now. All right? Just please, come in."

With a little flutter in her chest, she did, pushing the fluffy hip of Cearrebus over so she could bring in her bag and shut the door behind her. Looking down at Lucifer's sock feet in front. "Love the dress code for this place. I still feel a little covered in work, myself."

"As if I care. Come here." He leaned over and lifted her clean off her feet. Even with longstanding nerves, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to wrap arms and legs around him and just be held. She'd missed him so; almost didn't realize how much until she could relax and feel his warmth without the press of time hanging over them like a guillotine. She laid her head on his shoulder, the cashmere soft against her cheek. She closed her eyes and felt him stroking her hair, gently shifting his weight from foot to foot, rocking them. She'd been worried over and missed, too. It rang strange as she was unused to it, but wonderful as well. Apparently their third wheel felt a bit left out according to the whines and then a tug at her right Dansko. With a yip he was off, shoe in mouth. It broke the tension and the mood somewhat; not in a detrimental way, just easing them into the evening with a fuzzy icebreaker.

"Your dog is going to catch bubonic plague or some other yuck. That shoe is covered in hospital germs."

"Trust me, he's seen far worse."

"What happened to 'no heavy lifting'?"

"Right then, oops, so sorry." Tone, expression and words clearly divergent. He put her down to retrieve her shoe, which she placed on the step just outside the garage door with the other.

"Temptation averted."

"Not hardly." Little familiar gleam in his eye from watching her bend over.

She rolled her eyes at him playfully. "Hey, it's been a long day and I was promised an amazing dinner and something about a drink. And yet…the service is a little slack, although the staff is easy on the eye." Petting the dog but looking at him.

He smiled. "Almost ready. Want to come up?"

He gestured behind him at a curving staircase of multi tonal woods flowing together seamlessly. Following the strong lines of it upward with her eyes, she caught her breath. They were standing the bottom of an expansive, canted cylinder and it looked as if the wide spiral of stairs opened to at least two more floors as it wound higher. At the top the ceiling was an angled peak of glass and the white lines of the storm glazed across it, shifting with the wind. Stunning.

"I do, really. But could I just take a minute to change and clean up? I can still feel paycheck on me and I haven't gotten the feeling of car leather off yet, either."

For some reason her apologetic hedge in delay made him grin wider. "Certainly. Just this way, please." Taking her bag in one arm and her hand in the other, he led her a short way down the hall to a door across from the curve of the stairs. He waved her in. "After you." She walked into a beautiful room. Dove gray walls with white ceiling trim. A dark wood bed made up with mounds of crisp white pillows and down comforter. Two tall, slender stained glass lamps on either side laid pools of soft color on the stark linens. A few books on the nightstand on the side of the bed she thought of as 'hers', title spines facing away. The far wall was all glass. No, wait, doors? Scattered with insistent stars of snow flung by the wind, it was difficult to make out but looked like a little balcony beyond. A comfortable-looking chair, floor lamp and ottoman in the corner. Parson's table of the same gorgeous dark wood across from the bed, and a long padded bench before it with the colors of sunrise washing the upholstery. These were flanked by two doors, one of which was slightly ajar and had wisps of steam eddying out. She turned to look up at him. He was watching her with expectant anticipation.

"It's just lovely. So…restful. Your guests must be thrilled."

"I hope you are. Been looking for the right bit of art for that space, by the way…" indicating the expanse of wall over the Parson's table. "…perhaps you know of someone to recommend." Something in the way he said this gave her a tingly pause. "Right, sure. I'll ask around. Not all the folks at work are Cro-Magnon." "Would you? That would be wonderful." Delectably sinister smile at the corner of his mouth.

Indicating the near door with a wave of his hand Lucifer said, "Well, everything you need should be through here. Come up when you're ready. C'mon then, you big oaf." Talking to Cearrebus who had taken up a stance at the bed. The dog looked his master straight in the eye, lowered his ears and whined softly. "Come ON." He sat down, still whining. Canaan spoke quickly.

"Oh, he can stay; I don't mind. If it's all right." At her voice the animal's ears perked and he leapt to nudge under her hand, then laid himself down beside the bathroom door, satisfied doggy grin sprawling over his massive jaws.

"You've made quite an impression on him. I understand how he feels." With a whisper of a smile at her Lucifer set her bag down on the bench and closed the door behind him as he left.


	28. Duet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of my usual hint-y synop here, I'd like to say two things: 1)This story - my first fictional piece since (four-degrees past what I currently use irl) the one in Lit from ages past- had totally gotten away from me. Even then, not a creative writer: more research, and now research sci/tech so it's really been quite a surprise. As I mentioned to some PM's on another fanfiction site (added here as I've some visual art in mind for this) I actually wrote the whole thing back in spring on a staycation, literally with my rear-end glued to the seat and fingers callousing on the laptop keypad. Ridiculous, but I also happened to have a terrible cold and wasn't sleeping well so there's that. 2) I wholly appreciate the time others take in viewing the scribble, and for whatever feedback you choose to share - thank you muchly! And I do hope those reading continue to enjoy; it's going to get weirder as we come in the homestretch. Warning: two naughty bits and the song mentioned is 'Wild Heart' by Bleachers.

[ - ]

Stroking at Cearrebus' paw with her sock foot, Canaan opened the bathroom door further. The well-thought out design followed through here. Another door led to a private loo cubby, a generous counter top with dual sinks, another slightly open door off the side into the closet, but best of all was right in front of her. The bath was set in a recessed nook, surrounded on three side by glass. Streams of snow flowed over the greenhouse-type angled walls. Here was the source of the steam. A piping hot, gently bubbling tub with a clear fresh scent to it… and small objects floating on the water? After making sure they did not have legs, she dipped in a hand to capture one. Chamomile flowers. Fresh. A thin metal tray over the end held a warm teapot, mug and a stemless wineglass a third full of dark ruby liquid. A peek into the teapot released the same fresh flower scent, stronger. Detachable showerhead at the end. Pile of fluffy towels on one edge of the countertop. Small woven basket of toiletries on the other. Hamper underneath. Thick, indigo blue bathrobe hanging on a hook on the inside of the closet door. Canaan hoped the daylight view would not yield a crop of houses just beyond the glass edifice, but for the moment her knotted muscles did not care. She shed her clothes and slipped into the tub. Resting her neck back she looked up to watch the snow streaming just overhead. Occasional gusts sent the tiny flakes exploding against the side of the glass, but mostly the wind kept rivers of snow flowing above her, eddying, blending and changing course. It felt like she was flying through the storm.

Feeling comforted and relaxed by Lucifer's thoughtful care, the warm water, the wine and the tea Canaan could have easily steeped for a long time, but she knew part of her was hiding here, nerves damped slightly but still jingling through her system. She heard the thump of Cearrebus' tail wagging against the door and decided to pull herself together. She submerged her head quickly, washing all the plague of work off herself. She drained the tub as she rinsed off the sudsy confections she'd sampled, wrapping her head up after towel-drying and brushing her hair. Checking her watch, she was glad to discover it wasn't so late after all. Proper normal adult dinner date hour. With two rather abnormal adults…c'est la vie. Swaddled in the robe, she opened the door to the bedroom, again rubbing her foot over the dog's front paws. He licked at her toes. "Smell better now, huh? Probably less interesting to your nose though."

Something was different in the room. Her bag was still on the bench, but it was joined by several piles of clothes. She was actually relieved seeing how this 'dinner' had turned into something she was domestically unprepared for considering the distance and weather. Skivvies (tame ones: she was surprised) to socks, long johns, serious-looking outerwear, and a couple of comfortable-looking pullovers and leggings were waiting. Spread out on the bed was a sumptuously simple jersey wrap dress of ivory. Nothing else for underneath with it. She smiled. That was more what she expected from him, and it put what she had brought to wear to shame. Well, all right then. Two could play that game. Dipping into her bag she chose her favorite cream with the subtle scent of rose and geranium. Quickly slipping it over her skin, she dressed, brushed her teeth, and tucked one side of damp hair behind her ear. She wasn't really a makeup person, but a touch of scarlet on her mouth went well with the white dress and her pink post-bath cheeks. Hanging up the towels and tidying she walked back out to the bedroom. Cearrebus was standing by the hallway door. "So, what do you think?" He wuffed at her, pawing at the knob. "A canine 'yes'. Good enough. Shall we?"

The huge dog preceded her up the curved staircase, running up and back several times to hurry her. As she climbed she skimmed her hand over the marvelously seamless blends of different colored woods in the banister, trying to distract herself to keep the butterflies at bay. They were nearly trumped by her nose: something, several somethings actually, smelled wonderful. Rich food scents, crackling fire, fresh flowers on a small table near where the stairs curved again to ascend higher. The staircase opened in the near side of a large open space, the wood floor on this level joining it as if it grew that way naturally; an incredible display of craft. Kitchen alcove, small dining area, enormous fireplace with thick rugs and cushions spread before it, two curved chaises behind them with a table between. Low shelves full of books (of course) along the entire front wall of glass supported rather than marred what she was sure was an incredible view beyond. And a grand piano, one of the most beautiful she'd ever seen, was adjacent to the continued upward flow of the stairs, oriented so the bench took a commanding view of it all. Lucifer watched her from the stove; she hadn't seen him yet. She padded barefoot softly up the stairs, taking it all in, Cearrebus twisting around her and ducking to nose under her hand like the puppy he'd never been. He had never seen his fierce combatant act in such a way with any other since it wasn't his function to be kind. That fact that the beast was clearly smitten and Canaan seemed to be at total ease with him just confirmed the resilience of her enigma further for his master. However, simpler matters were on his mind now. She took his breath away, wearing what he'd chosen for her. Hair down free as he liked, wrap of the dress gliding over her supple figure as she moved. The color on her skin fed his blood, oh, how he wanted to touch that crimson mouth. He gripped the pot handle he was holding tighter, reminding himself there was no rush; they had plenty of time for once. But it had been so long…and he had been lonely for her.

He must have made a sound. Turning, she saw him and her expression lightened, walking towards him. She faltered a little at the look in his eyes, but then her smile deepened. She understood well enough how he felt as she was in the same bewildering thrall looking at him. She came close, stretching her arms up around his neck. "What smells so good? Besides you?"

"Inclement weather comfort food. Boeuf bourguignon, haricot vert, and very proper mashed potatoes – lots of butter. Chocolate torte and cherries for dessert. And the richest Cabernet I could find. You had a sample – what did you think?"

"I think a little taste is nearly never enough." She wasn't talking about the wine and the tone in her voice stoked him. He was actually trying to be well behaved, and here she was making it difficult. No, who was he kidding; she was making it downright hard. Almost uncomfortably so. She dipped a quick finger in the pot he had been prodding at. Looked up at him, licking it. He nearly threw her over his shoulder and ran for his bed right then. "That is wonderful! You've got some talent there, sir." She intended truth to both sides of the double entendre – the savor was fantastic, and after her long afternoon she really was hungry. "Can I help?"

"No need, I think you've done quite enough, thanks much." He turned toward the stove, getting ready to plate the food. He felt her arms wrap around his waist, squeezing. Her slender body pressed against his back, molding to him. That's it, he'd just throw them both to the floor right here. Bed was too far to go. After another firm press which nearly did him in just standing before her, she let go and grabbed the silverware, glasses and bottle off the counter. "I'll set the table and pour, okay?"

"Certainly, wonderful. Go on then, do that if you would." He gave her a scant two seconds to get out of arms' reach. Otherwise all bets were off. As she walked away he scolded himself. 'Don't look at her, don't look at her ass, don't look at her bloody fantastic ass in that dress…' oh, she was hurting him. With a furtive glance to make sure she was facing away, he tied his trousers tighter, quickly tucking himself behind the knot and tugging the sweater down further. 'Pullover' indeed. He liked these clothes she'd given him – a soft and comfortable change from his norm, but at the moment a bit too revealing. His dog came over and tilted his head quizzically. "Get stuffed. You have no frame of reference, yeah?" He could swear Cearrebus smiled at him. "You are SO going to sleep in the garage tonight, friend."

Carrying the plates over he watched as Canaan set the silver and finished pouring the wine and water. Setting a dish before where she was seated, he turned slightly to put his own plate down. Before he could sit, he heard her say, "I think you've forgotten something." He looked down at her, perplexed. "Did you expect appetizers?" His expression turned to shock as she swiftly turned her chair 90 degrees, facing him. She grabbed his hands and swept them behind her shoulders to rest on the high sturdy back of it. Pressing a pliant hand over the 'bone of contention' at his front, he heard warm mischief from her voice below him, "That can't possibly be comfortable. How am I supposed to enjoy dinner with such a distracted companion?" As she was speaking, she'd made quick work of the trouser drawstring under his pullover (of course she knew it was there, she'd purchased these), and lowered the soft linen, just enough to gain access to him.

"What are you doing?" he managed to choke out.

She leaned in, warm breath here making his head spin. "Do you really have to ask? Thought you were the one with all the experience…"

He had been so inflamed it was over in mere minutes. Her hands, one on his back, the other stroking him, the wet sear of her soft mouth and the lash of her tongue all obliterating any semblance of control he might have had. When he felt her draw him in deeper and begin rhythmic suction it was the rapid beginning of a very steep end. Gripping the chair hard, nearly bellowing as he felt her pulling his orgasm to surface, he almost fell over her in a stagger as the force of it hit him. Still leaning heavily on her chair and trying to recover he felt her hands readjust the fabric and tie him in. Pushing him gently away to sit down, she turned her own chair back to the table. Still stunned at what had just transpired, he could only just look at her as his heart continued to race. She held her silverware over her plate expectantly, raising one eyebrow at him.

"Are we waiting for something? Did you want to say grace first?"

He just shook his head. She'd rendered him completely speechless. She put her knife down to run a few fingertips over one corner of her mouth.

"What, something on my face? Crème brulee, maybe?"

He realized she'd been teasing him, and after a second he just started in with those beautiful bell tones of his laughter, the release of tension nearly as strong as his climax. Eyebrows practically scorching his hairline and incredulous smile warming his face he leaned over to grab her knee. "I cannot believe you just did that!"

She began to chuckle as well. "Right? How overt. 'Hey, glad you made us this amazing dinner; let me just rip your pants off before you can enjoy it.' So plebian."

"Hardly. Sparking fantastic."

Canaan wrinkled her nose a bit. "I'm sure your wealth of expertise grants you far broader examples than any I could offer though…" She trailed off, a little embarrassed.

He put down the fork he'd just picked up to reach out again and cover her near hand. "No, don't do that. Please. It's you…what you do to me…not merely this…I just can't understand it."

She looked over at him, smiled appreciation. "Nor I. Same." She raised a warning fork and altered her tone. "No heavy lifting, right?"

"As you wish." Softer. "But when you wish, I'm ready." His words allayed her expression. Then she turned scamp.

"I think we scared the dog." Cearrebus was lying in front of the fire, pointedly facing away from them.

"Perhaps. I threatened him in the kitchen earlier."

"He's amazing. Can you tell me about him without, you know, 'telling me about him'?"

Lucifer let his eyes roll and eyebrows tangle as he picked up his glass. "Well, I can try…"

Their segway into peripheral small talk was easy and companionable. They ate and drank together, snow continuing to pile up outside and the winds to howl against the glass. It only made the interior feel warmer. And fostered this, the camaraderie quickening between them that was the mortar between the stones of larger questions. This also was important, and so satisfying. For different reasons they had both been alone and for so long that the shackles of solitude were familiar, and path to freedom abstruse. Some time apart had made both empirically realize that being together this way wasn't simple, or easy, but good nonetheless. And the unfamiliar territory very enjoyable to explore with the right traveling partner.

After they finished, and had decided to take a breather before dessert Canaan started to help him clear the table. "No, love." He'd given up trying to stop himself saying the little endearment: he just couldn't seem to help it. "I've got this. Go explore." Pushing her away amid mild protests, he enjoyed watching as she examined his house with the same ascertaining eye she gave to everything new. Cearrebus rose to dog her heels, literally. He was just fascinated with her and Lucifer found that intriguing. There must be something there within the connection between extraordinary animal and extraordinary human. Canaan stopped before the wall of glass that faced west. The view was still obliterated by the storm and the books below were the next to attract her attention. Of course. He grinned, thinking of the time he'd spent perusing her collection and trying to learn about her. She was doing the same. As he was turned away to place the dried dishes back into the high cabinets, he heard phrases of soft, melodious notes emanating from his piano. He paused, his back towards the room, not wanting to startle her with what he knew must be a hauntingly peculiar expression on his face. She could not possibly have this gift. Music? It was the very marrow of his spirit. He had been created in and of such splendor, for the sheer expression of tremendous joy in the very nature of existence. When he fell many of his glories had been stripped, but intelligence, strength, the pull of his voice and some other minor talents he was allowed to keep. But important above all to him was his music. Despite his ire regarding many other aspects of his experiences, he would be forever grateful for this. It was precious to him in a way beyond all explanation. And she had this same joy within her…even though the notes were quiet, he could easily discern some passable human talent in the connection she was establishing between her hands and his piano.

Inhaling slowly, he chanced a glance back at her. Head bowed, she was focused, becoming accustomed to the play of the keys, making acquaintance. Instruments had personalities, distinguishing characteristics making individuals of them, and her respect in the introduction touched him. He refreshed their glasses and walked over. Cearrebus was laying under her feet where her toes brushed over his coat and the beast twitched a contented ear at his approach.

"So, you play?"

She jumped as he sat beside her, legs behind the bench, twisting his body to lean an elbow on the fallboard. In her concentration she hadn't heard him approach. "Oh! Sorry, no, not for such a long time." Slightly wistful. "And certainly nowhere near as you do. It's just so beautiful I couldn't help myself." She brushed her hands appreciatively over the key slip. "Elegant and powerful. It suits you."

"Go on then, what were you amusing Cearrebus with? The savage beast appears well-soothed." They both looked down and chuckled at the huge dog laid out on his side, body akimbo through the bench legs.

"He's probably more interested in the fact that my feet don't reach the ground so I can rub his fur with my toes."

"Well, I know I'd certainly enjoy that too." Hot smirk. "But no, really. Let me hear you."

She looked shy as she laid her hands over the keys, and that melted him.

She began to play, softly. Her unique take on the song's composition took him a couple seconds to riffle through his memory's repertoire and recognize it as just an old alt fave. She hummed as her fingers coaxed music from the keys. He was even more entranced as she began to sing to him: no frills to her voice, just a clear, soft alto.

"….dream far away…to come home, to be brave…" He touched her, brushing the damp waves from the back of her shoulders to feel the muscles there drawing forth the music. Enjoying the process of person and instrument in collaboration.

Stronger melody, softer voice now, leaning a little into him. "And now everything has changed, and it's only you that matters…I will find any way to your wild heart."

He smiled, pleased and lost himself in thought briefly until he sensed a stutter in her. Wait, was that a catch he heard? "…boarded up the windows and the doors to my house, no one will ever read the letters of the lies that I told from the years I was changed…" definitely faltering voice, but not her hands. He joined her song, his tenor a flowing bastion to her sotto voce. He understood this section all too well himself.

"…why did they have to go and do us like that, why did they have to go and run from a dream far away…"

But no…she shook him off. Her voice alone, muted with anger, her fingertips falling silent on the keys "…to think everything must die, for anyone to matter…" The sudden knell of realization struck him hard even without sensing her deliberately. Without knowing specifics and ramifications, he caught the likely source of that pain she'd crushed away inside herself. Loss. Enough desperation to create a whole new persona to flee the finality of it. To escape a horrifying reality…he certainly understood that...and not wishing her to drown as she seemed in danger of he moved quickly.

He sang for her, his body twisting around to enclose hers on the bench, strong arms over and around hers, legs surrounding, feet working the pedals to complement his hands sweeping over the keys. Canaan's own rose to cover her face, leaning back into him.

"Ohhh… I will find, any way to your wild heart." His fingers pulled and wove incandescent harmonies and melodies together, the original song only a single bright strand spinning through the heart of the musical construct he was creating. Using the strongest pull of his voice to arrest her break by singing the simple words, "You know everything has changed, and now I can tell what matters…oh, I will find any way to your wild heart." Playing with all the beauty and power within him as she turned to cry like a child against his chest. He knew this emancipation was not the pain of causality, just the tearing of her armor away from the wound it shielded. It would be up to her to discard or repair it. He softened the intensity of the song, creating a pathway out of new melodies, lulling notefalls. He was at home in his gift and this expression of it provided her with the consolation she needed to stem the heartache.

For her part, Canaan was stunned to feel as she did. To feel as much as she did. She had begun just fooling around with the melody because she liked it, and enjoyed hearing what his piano sounded like. Singing to him made her feel close, and then suddenly the words of the song dropped the bottom out of the world she lived in with this new name: the only reason she was with him now was because of what she had lost. Anything precious could be taken at any time. Everything precious was taken, and her mind screamed to silence the ramifications of it. Only the walls she'd built kept her safe from the agony attachment could bring; that and existing as an empty ghost within them. And ever since she'd met Lucifer he'd been drawing her out. Her full realization of this was too much change, too fast, and she cracked. Hearing and feeling his strength and artistry gave her a respite, either to repair the protection she was outgrowing, or to try to let some of it go. The choice and work ahead was painful either way: far harder than she ever imagined. And exhausting to consider.

Feeling her begin to recover, Lucifer lifted his hands from the keys and folded her into him. He held her gently as her jagged breathing began to settle, wiping the tears from her face. "It's not easy, is it? Feeling you're lost?"

"No. I'm sorry…"

"Shhhh..." he hushed her.

"I'm so tired."

Quietly he picked her up, cradling her to him as he ascended the second sweep of stairs. The wide room above was dark and still with only the rush of wind and swirl of snow scouring the windows. Cerberus followed them, soundless as well. He lay down at the stairway entrance before the door; a silent guardian with two charges tonight.

Lucifer stood her before his bed, pulling the tie of the dress and slipping her free. He shed his own clothes quickly, and held back the layers of blankets and covers. He slid in first, pulling her with and close to him before covering her snugly. They curled together, heavy bedlinens warming from their bare skins. Canaan's upset was subsiding, but not easily. Feeling his body surrounding hers made her feel safer…from herself. She was weary from the day, from the unexpected strain and afraid to be trapped in the ravage of her own thoughts, loose and razing as they were now. She ran a hand down his neck, feeling his pulse quicken there. Hearing the soft 'oh' as she touched him this way. Wanting that comfort, too.

"Please."

The soft crush of her voice cut him.

"Hush now. Rest. You're safe here with me." Hoping she was.

"Don't make me ask again…I can't. I just need…"

He silenced her falter with his mouth deeply, tasting the salt of pain on her skin. He shifted his body to cover hers, feeling the quaver in her small frame. He still didn't know how it was possible, but oh, how strongly she pulled at him; this body, mind and heart all torsional. Up on his elbows and holding her head in his hands he felt her slide her legs around him, one at his waist, the other his thighs. Smoldering tension in her muscles, waiting. As before, the power she seemed unaware of flooded free, sweeping over his senses in a rush. He hadn't expected this after what happened downstairs. But he knew solace could be found in many ways, and he needed her, too. Needed her to feel secure here with him, needed her to feel his strength, and needed her touch to soothe him as well. Though he'd never say, her veiled hurts always woke his. Adjusting, he pressed at her gradually. The edge to her voice easing, "Oh…yes..." Feeling her hands slide to grip his hips roughened his breathing as he twisted in more firmly, seeking the complete warmth of her body's welcome. How he'd missed this with her.

Soft moans at his ear, slick heat swathing him, nails dragging at his flanks driving them both. In her current state, she was a willing but unequal partner, grief having waylaid her. But right now she wanted him, not a memory; he could feel it in the hunger of her grasp and it was his name she breathed. With long, slow strokes he provided them a steadily reassuring rhythm to follow. It gave him peace to feel her surrender underneath, trusting. As the comfort gave way to covet Lucifer could feel the change sweep Canaan as she pressed harder, arching. The sound of her breath altering, her hands sweeping over his skin needfully, her shaky whisper asking him to set her free, to help her let go. The answer his body gave was power restrained, pushing her gradually over the edge and the collapse of her tension that he felt as she climaxed pulled him quickly after. Exhausted and relieved, she nestled against his chest, still holding him warm inside. Unwilling to disturb the tenuous ease he'd given he just held her quietly, careful fingers brushing over her hair, feeling her body relax away into sleep. It took him longer, snared as he was in his own unruly thoughts.

Remembering his growing concern for her safety during the hours she had been traveling ate at him; a feeling of powerlessness. Hating that loss of control as he always had. The flood of relief he felt at hearing her voice on the cell, which he was also powerless to stem. The absolute strangeness of Cearrebus with her: he was a creation for necessary violence and protection only – to see him unabashedly cave to Canaan like the animal he was modeled after here was incredible. How could that happen? The surprise of her music…then her reaction to pain by seeking peace in him…he'd only ever seen her run and hide – usually literally. More than anything else this affected him. It had never been his nature to be a comfort, and he'd been badly injured when attempting to do so before, souring him on the concept. Arrogance, intelligence, pride, ability…these were his remaining traits, so he had thought. But now he wanted her near for him to look after. So new. So strange. And so much he didn't understand about her past. And the same for her; the broken way he had tried to explain himself had just frightened and confused her on a level she was as yet unwilling to admit existed…and he had caught glimpses of how far she could go in separating herself from distress. That was a path he did not want to tread. Trying to quiet his mind he focused on the warmth of her body in his bed and the trust she showed being vulnerable in his care. Closing his eyes, it was simply listening to the sound of her soft breathing that at last soothed him into sleep.


	29. Lessons...Beginning Sessions...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, some instances of intimacy. Not intended trite (remember, this is how Lucifer most easily communicates on this plane - and the naughty beast is right good at it, as he'll tell you - and how Canaan, despite herself surprisingly, responds best to this feral part of him; assuaging her responsibility for cogent remediation of logic). I'll leave markers before and aft as the rest is more of that 'mortar' that is important in relationship – building of any sort. The song in play is "Hey Wow" by The Connells.

[ ]

Since they had uncharacteristically fallen asleep so early, Canaan woke soon after dawn. It took her a moment to reorient herself in time and place: in Lucifer's bedroom, under his covers with one of his arms loose around her shoulders and her head tucked under his chin. Extricating one hand to rub her eyes she looked around. The huge expanse of windows here had no curtains, and the early glow indicated clearing cloud cover from last night's storm. The winds were still strong; gusts sending washes of riven snowy scuds over the high windows. From what little she could see it was a relatively spartan space. The huge bed they were lying in, recliner with a scatter of books by the windows, desk across the room. Several doorways on different walls, including the open double one to the landing where Cearrebus lay, head up, watching her. She smiled at him and he rested his massive jaw back down on his front legs, tip of his long tail twitching happily. She turned her head back to see another pair of eyes looking on through thick lashes half-lowered with sleep, corners crinkling as he smiled. Lucifer brushed his fingers over her forehead, sweeping tumbled locks of hair from the side of her face.

"Good morning. How do you feel?"

She smiled back at him as she thought of her answer. "A bit drained." His brow furrowed slightly. "No, no. Not drained like 'tired' – we must've slept for nearly seven hours." Good sleep was hard for her to come by between work, stress and her erratic schedule. This was a welcome treat. "Drained like 'absence of unknown malice'. It feels good." His expression relaxed, remembering the welcome emptiness he'd first felt during his long night on her balcony. His forehead wrinkled again at her slight wince.

"What?"

"Well, one other thing. Maybe a little…um…sticky."

He laughed. "Yes. I agree. Easy enough fix, that. Right, crack on." Unceremoniously tossing the covers off, he rose quickly, hoisting her over his shoulder on the way up. Punishing her surprised squeal with a small spank he walked them across the room.

"Consider yourself lucky I didn't do this last evening. As I saw you coming up the stairs in that dress I wanted to drag you away and leave the pots to burn."

Giggling like a kid, she spoke to him from upside-down over his back. "That would have been an awful waste – it was delicious. The dress is gorgeous. Certainly better than what I had to wear. Speaking of which, there's a pretty wide variety of clothing items on the bench downstairs. Know anything about that?"

"Perhaps." She could hear the tease in his voice. "First things first, though."

The door he'd pushed through led into a beautiful master bath with a high glass ceiling tapering toward the slanted point overhead. Big tub (of course), larger open shower and door to another greenhouse-style enclosure beyond. As he adjusted the water temp she ducked into the loo behind another door. Thanks goodness for construction that allowed privacy. As she came out her jaw dropped, really taking things in. His shower was incredible. The long side was the exterior glass, (again, she really hoped he didn't have near neighbors) and the high tiled sides of the front and back wall had brushed brass pipes which nearly looked like an abstract sculpture woven between them. Water poured from this intricate sieve in varying angles of silver ribbons. It must be like standing in a rainstorm – she couldn't wait to find out.

"Go on, get in. Be right back."

Canaan reached an upturned palm under the water – the hot side of warm and just perfect. Slipping in she felt the tingle and wash of the streams cover her completely. Amazing. Closing her eyes she raised her face to the 'rain', savoring the experience. She startled a little when she heard a close voice.

"Now that's a sight."

Lucifer was standing behind her, pulling gently at her long hair, running it over his hands. It felt good. It felt even better when he lathered it up, massaging her scalp and playing as he rinsed, the foamy suds streaming down her body.

"Mmmm…" It felt nice to be petted a bit; his hands were strong and gentle both, and she leaned to his touch. Well-washed, she turned to look up at him. "I'd return the favor but you're a little…inaccessible up there."

"Well that won't do, hey?" Smiling, he sat down in front of her on a tiled bench. Exactly eye level with her breasts. "Right, now this is ideal."

'Incorrigible, aren't you?"

"Practice makes perfect."

As she worked the lather he'd poured into her palm through his thick hair he picked up a clipper and leaned over to grasp one of her ankles and raise her foot to the bench beside him. "What are you doing?" "Just a little groundskeeping. Your turn first, me next." He'd always been so unpretentious about all aspects of both his body and hers that she wasn't as flustered as she'd have thought having him perform the little chore. It was such a strangely intimate experience to have him shave her. First each leg, then her underarms. Watching the careful attention in his eyes as he held her wrists high above her head to do so. He ran a hand down the front of her body, and in a huskier voice spoke, "What a pretty little pelt. Let's just whisk along the sides, yes?" The feel of the clipper vibrating on her sensitive skin, his gentleness as he swept one leg at a time over his knee to reach between, her hands balancing on his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex under them as he moved. She had never been so turned on by simple maintenance as she was now. He looked up at her, his dark eyes nearly black with desire. "Well, now…let me just check my work."

[ - ]

In one smooth motion he grasped her waist as he rose, turning her back to the wall. The contrast of cool tiles on her shoulderblades and the warmer water flooding over her nearly made her gasp. What happened next did. He lifted her high, her legs coming to rest on his arms. She was directly under the conduit, rivers of water sluicing over her body. When she felt him slide her thighs forward to his shoulders she quickly grabbed two of the thicker pipes. Knowing how strong he was, she had no fear of falling, but the feel of his hot mouth against her confluence made her head spin and she was in dire need of some stability. His tongue nearly rendered her insensate. Soft and undulant when licking at her with broad strokes, firmer when manipulating the sensitive node above. He kept her tortured, twisting above him, bringing her rushing to the brink repeatedly then backing off, closer each time. The combination of water flooding heat over her skin, the solid chill at her back, the strength she felt underneath as he held her easily and the extraordinary attentions paid to this most receptive part of her body became nearly unbearable. One of the few cogent thoughts crossing her mind was the appreciation of the noise of the pounding water, as she was grateful for anything to help mask the sort of sounds she was incapable of holding back. When he began to suck at her as well she let go with one hand to tangle it in his hair.

"You're destroying me, please. Please…." Begging him to let her come, please now, and well past the point of shy about needing it. She felt his lips and tongue work her harder, finally (finally!) releasing her from the lovely pain. As she began to tumble over the edge she felt him move quickly, sliding her down over his chest and belly to thrust himself deep inside. The feel of him there so solid. So good. His hold never let her break contact with his skin and the slick friction of his wet body was electrifying. Her orgasm drew out in long, pulsing arcs synced with his lunges. This sensation…incredible…The last rational part of her remaining was thankful for his firm grip as left to her own devices Canaan was sure she'd have collapsed in a boneless heap. Even so…

"Lucifer…it's so much…you're going to make me scream…"

"Do it, darling. Give me…something wonderful…to finish on…"

She bit him on the collarbone. Hard. Guttural sounds of surprised pleasure from both echoed off the tiles.

He shifted to hold one arm under her rear as his other braced against the wall, his final press even stronger as he joined her in release. She clung to him under the falling water, relishing the shudders rippling through his lean muscles. He still held her tightly and kept himself buried as he straightened up. Lucifer's beautiful voice was rough as he spoke, "Oh…how bloody good you feel to me." Hidden in his neck, placating the little welt she'd raised with softer fingertips she added, "Well, I highly recommend it from this end…rather the near side of pleasant." She felt the tremor run through his shoulders as he snorted in cheerful derision. Sudden splash of rascal in his voice.

[ - ]

"Hang on…"

"What are you doing?!"

Still holding her up from within and without, he swept them out of the shower with long strides, barging through the glass door at the end of the bath. Without slowing he took two quick paces and jumped. Suspended in the air and having no idea what to expect Canaan closed her eyes and crushed herself to him. If she was going to be thrown off a cliff by a crazy man, at least it was a great note to end on. What was waiting for them weren't jagged rocks but cool water. He had a lap pool in the greenhouse portion, four steps down from the short desk. They submerged together, the water refreshing to their hot skins. Surfacing, they separated. "You are…" Canaan's mind lurched through a varied trove of words, not finding anything even remotely appropriate to suit him. She settled for an old standby. "…just nuts." The mischievous light in his eyes flared brighter. "Come on, that's all you've got?"

"At the moment, yes. I'm feeling quite addled, thanks to you." Realizing the water tasted very un-gym-pool-like. Touching a finger to her tongue. "Salt?"

Giving her a lurid stare he ran a thumb over his lower lip. "The only taste in my mouth is sweet…"

Oh, how freaking filthy could he be? The man was in clear need of recompense. She gave him a tremendous splash and he closed his hands over his eyes, laughing at her. Fool. Water was her element. Giving herself an enormous shove off the bottom of the pool, she leapt at him, knocking him off balance and dragging them both under. Twisting herself around him she grabbed a lean hip from the back and sank her teeth - none too gently – into one firm cheek. She could hear his yelp of surprise bubble out through the water, and Canaan promptly snorted some up her nose as she started to laugh while still under. The both broke the surface, sputtering.

"Serves you right, saucy." Rubbing his backside and trying (and failing) to look put-out. "Is this going to be a…thing…now? I should warn you, I'm all about equal opportunity." Wickedly delicious grin.

"Well, you did ask for that yesterday. Didn't want you to think I forgot a special request." He looked perplexed for a second, then gave her a droll grimace remembering his 'bit behind' comment on the time of her departure. "Yes well, I'm about play of all kinds," the lecherous look was back "…but we should probably think on a safeword first." She rolled her eyes back at him. Realized she was starving and said so.

"I've already had a little something, so…ouch!" He shook off her quick pinch and tried to look appropriately penitent (failing again) as Canaan informed him that safeword or no, his other cheek was in serious jeopardy.

"All right then, come on." They walked up together to rinse the saltwater off. Canaan stood on the tiled bench to use the clippers to pare down the stubble on his face. Again, she was struck by the different slant of intimacy in the moment, his eyes closed against the water, her fingers on his jaw, allowing her to tilt him to reach where she needed. He opened his eyes, running a hand over his chin. "How'd I look?"

"Just beautiful." He was.

He said nothing, simply ran his palm down the side of her face, and looked at her reflectively. She closed her eyes and turned to kiss it. She felt his arms draw her in, holding her close for a few moments under the fall of water. Until her stomach growled loud enough for him to feel it vibrate against his skin.

Chuckling, he turned off the shower and tied on a bathrobe, quickly toweling his hair. Handing her a few from a fluffy stack. He looked absolutely adorable (and would likely die of indignant shame if she ever used that word out loud to him). Fresh, clean, satisfied and slightly disheveled. Mmmm.

"What?"

"Nothing…" she could only just smile at him.

"You fussy about breakie?" Huh? Oh. UK slang.

"Nope. As long as there's…"

"…a lot?" He quipped, laughing as she threw one of her towels at him and retorted, "Hey, I seem to burn a lot of calories around you. Can't be helped. I meant coffee. Or is that too non-continental for you?"

"Certainly not, aim to please."

"Well good on ya then, bloody brilliant show here mate, even if you are a bit mental." He snorted at her imitation of his accent and some low-rent argot. It was a decent take, intonations and all. He was tickled by the attention to detail the little tease required.

"Come down when you're finished. Hey. Then. Wot." Teasing her back in caricature. He beat a quick exit back through the door to the bedroom before she could throw something else, and she heard him talking to Cearrebus on the landing. She took the time to dry off well, and to try to coax one of his combs through her hair. A few tangles: a completely acceptable consequence of bedhead and enthusiastic hairwashing. Reluctant to parade down several flights of stairs clad only in a towel, she tried some of the doors, hoping for a closet. The first two were locked, which she found a little strange as this house seemed fairly impenetrable – especially with the guard dog it harbored. Third one was the charm, and she walked through a large closet, brushing her hands over his clothes. His scent lingered here, but she was sure it wasn't cologne; just him. She reached up to pull a white shirt from a hanger; she could at least feign purity. Her small frame swimming in the fabric she buttoned up the front (well, mostly; why not give him a little thrill?) and rolled the cuffs as she walked out to the landing. Cearrebus was waiting for her, tongue lolling out of his wolfish smile. "Hello escort. Is this neighborhood too much for me alone, you think?" Small sigh. "I'm not entirely sure myself."

She began to follow her nose down the curved stairway, one hand skimming the beautiful wood of the bannister and the other ruffling the flex of the dog's shoulders as he walked with her. Her comfort with the huge animal surprised her considering how ferocious he looked, but she'd always loved wild things. And for apparently not meeting many others he seemed pretty happy with her as well. Once again the gorgeous room was captivating; even more from this higher angle now that the early light of day was breaking through stronger as the storm cover receded. She stopped halfway down, spellbound. The west-facing wall of glass was starting to flush with the first reflections of the sun rising behind the house and the breathtaking promise of the view beyond. The snow cover glowed with the colors of sunrise on tiers of frosted dark evergreens near and far, huge slashes of rockfall and crag close by and as far as she could see into the distance, the mountains frozen in tectonic heave and crash. Fading away where darkness still lay. The sun was just beginning to catch the highest peaks, flaming them like ripples from a skipped stone. Juxtaposition of light and dark. Both beautiful. More so close together. As he had last night, Lucifer watched her from the kitchen, entranced as she drank in the beauty of the early morning. She was too focused to hear him approach, but felt the dog move under her hand to greet his master. She turned to him with a smile.

"'Hey, wow' is wholly insufficient, but it's all I've got."

"What do you think you could do with that?" Nodding at the view through the glass. Slightly knowing tone with less slightly raised eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" Quizzical look and head tilt at him. He just kept looking at her, one corner of his mouth pursed and waited for realization to dawn. Oh. Right. She had put it out of her mind that he'd spent time alone in her house. He must have seen her workspace. For all her love of language in books, she found her art difficult to talk about as it came from a place without words. Like her feelings for him.

The tacit admission was enough for Lucifer and he handed her a steaming mug of coffee. She curled her hands around the warmth and sniffed gratefully. "Mmmm…perfect."

"Look here, I'm going to just finish up. Play me something as I do. Something…apposite." He watched a thoughtful look cross her face, then saw a flush of resolve flicker over her brow. He turned to cross back to the kitchen. This should be interesting…

Lucifer heard a few cascades of notes fall together, the phrases at first seemingly as separate from one another as the snowflakes outside blown on the wind. Moving in similar directions, but independent. She developed the melody, the rills of harmony flickering through under her light touch as he heard the song rise from her hands. A little wistful, a little sad…but with a freshening lean. It suited. She sang, not loudly, but he could hear her clean voice complementing the washes of music.

"Is the sun out, has the wind died?

Or is the stillness here, the calm between my ears?

And I know now, why they put me here."

Resignation. Difficulty with acquiescence on her face.

"Things were clear once, 'till the clouds came.

Now I don't know when they'll fall

No, I couldn't say at all

And I know now, why they've kept me here."

Jaw setting. Steeling herself for what came next. Stronger voice.

"I've been paralyzed, by a choice that lies well inside of me.

Which world to hold me now?

And I believe I'm drifting…"

He began to walk to her, drawn in.

"Hey, the mist surrounds me more and more; it swirls and it rains here.

And I have known this all before, but nothing's very clear."

He came to sit at the bench as he had last evening. Listening attentively.

"Are the stars out, is the sun down?

Or is the darkness here, the calm between my ears?

And I know now, why they left me here.

I've been mesmerized, by a voice that cries well inside of me. 

She continued to face the keys as she played, but canted her eyes at him, little smile at the corner of her mouth.

Too loud to hold it down.

And I believe I'm drifting…"

She let her voice go silent, but developed the melody stronger through the chorus, picking up the tempo throughout. Singing the bridge.

"I've been paralyzed, by a choice that lies well inside of me.

Which world to hold me down?"

Letting the words drift away and allowing the strands of melody and harmony to unravel and scatter into the same wafts of phrase as when she began. Pausing as the last notes rang away, fingers still stroking the keys lightly.

"Interesting…don't think I'm familiar with that."

"Yeah, me either." Resigned expression on her face, but he was heartened to see it wasn't overly pensive.

"Hmm, perhaps something a little more..."

She interrupted. "Ah…he wants a little more. What a surprise. Well, how about..." Her hands hit the upper keys with a crash, startling him. Hearing Three Dog Night's 'Joy' erupt from under her fingers absolutely jiggered him with delight. He joined her enthusiastically, elegant fingers jamming over the lower keys to complement her fun at the top. He belted this one out, and some of his suggestive facial expressions over the more lascivious lines made her laugh so hard she was breathless. He hadn't had this good a time playing with someone since Father Frank years ago and remembering that loss gave him an unexpected pang. He'd been a real friend even though their time together was brief. The priest was missed. The man was his polar opposite yet had accepted this fallen son as all he was, so easily. And nothing Lucifer could do would force anyone else to do the same. Canaan saw a sudden indrawn look hollow his eyes. Understanding the feeling without knowing his reasons and not wanting him to get stuck as she had last night, she asked, "Didn't you have something on the stove?" The distraction worked. "Oh, bloody hell!" Lucifer rushed to avert a major kitchen disaster. They wound up enjoying lukewarm coffee and a slightly crispy frittata straight from the pan while lounging in front of the fire.


	30. Breathe Him In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally finally, she begins to see what's always been in front of her. Shenanigans marked fore and aft.

[ ]

The morning brightened as the clouds rescinded under the winds following the storm. As soon as she'd mentioned getting a decent chunk of time off in their conversation last week Lucifer had realized he could probably manipulate circumstances into her spending some of it with him out here. The storm snowing her in was just a bonus. He'd some definite plans in mind, but the morning was still rather blustery for a few of his options. There had been a brief moment of awkwardness when Canaan had asked if Cearrebus needed to eat, or go out for a walk. Lucifer had replied that he 'just wasn't that kind of animal', and watched the war waging in her expressions as she tried to decide whether to ask more about it or not. She must've reached some kind of impasse within herself because she simply dropped the subject but kept a thoughtful look on her face for a time afterwards, still mulling it over apparently. He considered it progress, albeit slow.

Relaxing on the cushions and rugs of the warm hearth, they spent the later part of the morning just reading and listening to music. For all his public flamboyance, Lucifer spent time quietly alone, and as the years passed here he'd been more to himself. His understanding of human nature and how it could affect him (or not) still had some big gaps, which depending upon his somewhat fickle mindset he wanted either to explore or ignore by turns. He found himself welcoming privacy more often to deal with the ramifications of both modalities, and smaller groups of people were more effective 'case studies'. Hence moving to a less-populous area, building this isolated house and the name he'd chosen for it. For her part Canaan practically required solitude to decompress from work and not feel so taxed dodging the social requirements of community she had been trying to actively avoid for the past few years. But being unobtrusive together was actually quite nice.

Lucifer was slung back on a few fat pillows with ankles crossed and bare feet to the flames. Canaan rested her head on his legs, cushioned by the robe over long muscles, book balanced on her stomach. With one side of her warmed by the fire and the other by the giant dog who, supernatural or not (wtf, seriously?), that was curled against her like any other run-of-the-mill cozy pup, she felt content. She could feel Lucifer's eyes flick over his own book to look down at her every so often. "Probably just trying to peek down the shirt', she thought, smiling inwardly. And, him being him yes he was, but mostly he was making sure she was still there. He had not felt simultaneously more at ease and more discomfited with another person in a very long time, and had to 'pinch himself' by looking to make sure she was real. Not only was this a rare moment of peace in both of their hectic lives, but an ever rarer moment of peace with one another. Whatever complications they harbored at separate individuals – and there were many on both sides – were exponentially confounded when together. Enjoying the respite from everything was lovely. And if they knew what was coming for them, they'd have enjoyed it more.

After eating an early lunch of the missed dessert from last night, both felt a little restless from the sugar and morning masquerading as lotus-eaters. The sun shone brightly now, and the winds had quieted. Working companionably together in his kitchen, they threw together an 'everything' soup to simmer the afternoon away on the stove. A more impossibly domestic duet between two solo artists was unlikely, something they both found amusing though neither mentioned it aloud. Lucifer herded her off to the guest room to dress 'in warm clothes and gear' and meet him by the garage door. Alone within the peaceful gray walls Canaan couldn't remember the last time she'd been so intrigued by the prospect of what long underwear could bring. If ever, come to think of it.

She walked out into the hallway, feeling a little warm. The feeling swiftly changed to a sudden chill looking at him standing by the door, pulling on his gloves as he waited for her. Dressed in the same black outer gear she was, he had heavy boots on which made him impossibly tall, a face shield and gaiter covering him from bridge of nose to neck and tinted goggles attached to a thick earband perched on his forehead. Without any other distractions of expression, his dark eyes were almost difficult to look at. She'd only ever seen him nattily dressed, naked, or in the outfit he was wearing last night, and the change was extraordinary. He looked like a formidable warrior in flexible panoply, and the insistent thump in her gut strongly warned her that he indeed was more than he appeared to be. As he'd told her. As she'd briefly seen and tried to shelve. Lucifer saw the different look in her eyes and narrowed his own. As when they'd first met, she was assertively appraising him, and watching her body's unconscious change in posture from relaxation to 'practitioner alert' mode was interesting to see. Also as then, he did not see fear in her at all, only awareness in assessment of something new in front of her. 'Picture really worth a thousand words, perhaps,' he thought.

"You have some things I don't." She meant his boots and goggles.

"Indeed I do." His smile might be hidden, but the lusty tease implicit in his voice and eyes was the same.

She sighed and tilted her chin at him, muttering a small epithet under her breath. He was fairly certain it was the word 'incorrigible'. He walked through the garage door and down the steps to a cabinet along the back wall. Retrieving two bulky packages he put them on the top step and told her to open them. In one was a visored helmet, and in the other a pair of boots like his, just far smaller. Sitting on the step to slide them on she truly realized just how much he foresight he'd utilized to make her feel welcome in his home with him. Not just the items he'd purchased, but all the little efforts from the bath to cooking…to the kindness he'd shown her last night on the piano bench. And he'd completely respected her wish to not discuss what was clearly the elephant in the room – who he really was…and herself as well. For months, now. And had asked for little in return; just to be with him on whatever terms she felt like granting. When she felt like it. He had been patient and selfless, and she knew these weren't easy attributes for him to manage. She felt a prickle at the back of her eyes (she had never been outwardly demonstrative; hadn't been teary in YEARS and now this strange person was making her well up nearly every time she saw him. What was wrong with her?). A voice from far above her head jolted her back to reality.

"Have you worn clogs for so long you've forgotten how to tie laces?"

"Nope. Sorry." Looking down to finish with the boots and blinking rapidly to clear her vision. "Lucifer…"

He turned back warily from his progress across the garage: she usually didn't use his name unless she was naked, angry or irritated. And she was definitely dressed in many layers right now. "Yes?"

"Thank you." The two small words held large inflections. He smiled under the gaiter and she could see the pleased expression sweep his eyes. She'd made him happy, and felt more than a little guilty about the small amount of effort that took.

"Well, of course. Heaven knows we can't have you unprotected out in the elements, now can we?" Little bit of banter to lighten her seriousness and she appreciated it.

"Is Cearrebus coming with?" He gestured for her to look up. She did. The giant dog was looming over her as she sat on the stairs. "As if he'd let you out of his sight. Smart, he is." His eyes warmed again. She stood to let the animal pass, close the inside door and followed the fluffy tail to another door across the garage. She heard an engine starting outside and hurried through.

The sun was dazzlingly bright on the snow and she squinted, shielding her eyes with one hand. A smaller camelbak pack and a large tarp lay against the piled snow by the door, and as Canaan's eyes adjusted, she saw Cearrebus frisking through the sculptures of drifts and scour the wind had created. Lucifer was just in front of her astride a black snowmobile. It was like the sport toy version of his coupe: sleek and powerful with an engine that purred like a kitten the size of the frolicking dog in front of them. He was adjusting his goggles and motioned for her to put on the backpack and her helmet and fasten both. He extended a gloved hand to help her balance as she put a foot on the jump bar and swung her leg over. He reached back to grab behind her calves and pull her flush to him, and even through the thick gear they both felt a little thrill at the contact. Finding the footrests she leaned into him, one arm circling his waist as the other hand gave his arm the two standard 'Ready/Go' thumps she usually used on emergency transports. Pulling away slowly to give her time to link her hands around him, he headed up a long camber through the trees behind the house. In only moments they broke through the conifer line and he smiled as he felt her squeeze him extra hard at what was waiting. He paused to idle the 'mobile so she could enjoy it.

Ascending the sharp curve of the ridge meant they'd traversed an arc that brought them almost directly behind and above the house below. From this vantage point it looked like a giant quartz exposed by rockfall – all glistening glass, metal and the same colors in the stone as the surroundings. Gorgeous. They'd stopped at the highest point for some distance and the unobstructed view west over the mountains was incredible. A massive tumble of rock and scree carved a huge gash in the bluff mere feet from where they were. Turning her head, Canaan saw that the view east rivaled it. The earlier storm clouds were a blurry line of haze on the horizon; barely visible as they met the sea beyond. The crags of the mountains melted to the hills and gentler valleys eventually flattening to the effluvial plain where the city lay. Feeling Lucifer's hand patting her leg she twisted and half-rose to look over his shoulder down his extended arm. Southwest, she could see where the ridgeline they were on dove back into the trees and it appeared to dip and curve following a long slope down to a narrow valley below. A small body of water with what looked like something extending partially out into the side of it reflected the sharp blueness of the sky, and the sunlight winked off the water in crisps of light. Not frozen? He circled his wrist, indicating that was their destination and to hang on. Feeling two taps from her, he jammed the powerful machine into high gear and they raced across the cusp - sapphire skies above and pristine snow below - huge twin plumes flaring behind them. It was terrifyingly exhilarating – like she imagined flight would be. She turned her head back to see Cearrebus keeping pace with them easily beyond where their wings of snow were falling, using their path for traction. Lucifer slowed as they reached the trees, weaving in and out between them on a narrow trail. Her pure excitement changed to wonder as they were fluttered in sun and shadow by turns, a glorious flow of dazzling spears piercing the columns of dark green and cool tones of blueish purple in the rippling shades passing underneath. Cearrebus bounded past them, racing ahead in sheer joy. So much beauty here, and most all was whom she was holding.

[ - ]

The long path through the woods was like allowing a meandering current to pull them through water in a kelp forest; mesmerizingly magical. Lulled into a near trancelike state between the play of color, rush of wind and malleable resilience she was leaning into, Canaan began to become more aware of the vibration of the machine below them. With her legs apart, the pulse of the engine was strong on her body. For a short time she enjoyed it as part of the whole sensory experience, but it became increasingly more difficult not to react. After all, the best temptation of promised pleasure was literally within her grasp. Lucifer felt her legs begin to press on his, thinking at first she was just leaning into the ebb and flow of their movements down a steeply winding portion of the trail. When he felt her gloved hands drop from his waist to the insides of his thighs he was surprised, and found his required concentration on their navigation jarred. He felt Canaan stretch along his back as her hands moved on him, fingers curling. The distraction became stimulation. The material of the gear they wore was unconstricting to accommodate movement, and that's exactly what he felt his body doing in response to her touch. More with each rapid beat of his heart. Even through the ripstop fabric of his pants and her gloves he felt her on him as if they were bare. When she brought her hands right into the juncture of his thighs and begin to cup what strained under the tautly drawn material he slowed the machine so he wouldn't crash. In a lower gear the vibrations of the engine were stronger which only added to the tension in them both. He knew they didn't have much further to go, but if he sped up she'd have to quit what she was doing to hold on. And he didn't want her to stop, not when this was starting to feel so good…too good…but the pulsations of this tease were sheer torment. When he felt her clutch his leg with one hand and rub the heel of the other harder over the rigidity under his gear, he realized that he would have difficulty reaching their destination intact. The way she was crushing her legs into his was a good indication she would have trouble as well.

Desperately looking for the first relatively safe, level place he could find, he skidded to a stop. Locking the brake and twisting the key he slid off the 'mobile quickly, turning to tug her clear. For the span of one breath they stood facing each other in the sudden silence, not speaking, not moving. Faster than thought, he spun her around and pressed her into the machine with his body. When he felt her press back against him, even locking her arms on the frame to push harder he succumbed totally to the potent desire she'd roused in him. Ripping off his gloves and pinning her between his hips and hands he reached under her jacket to loosen the clasp on her pants. He slid one hand down inside her layers of clothing, wanting to be sure she was ready…Canaan was soaked…feeling her like that sent a twisting lurch straight through him. He swirled his fingers over her with one hand and struggled to loosen his own gear with the other. She reached back toward him – to help – to touch – he didn't know. He didn't care. He couldn't wait. Extricating both his hands quickly, he grabbed hers and forcefully pushed them flat on the side of the seat. The message was clear: 'brace.'

He hurried to unfasten his clothes and pulled hers down just far enough, the sight of her smooth skin peeking out between of the black shells of her gear spurring him on. With one hand on her hip to cant her up and the other steadying himself he drove into her. She was so warm, so wet...oh, strong as he was he could not believe what this woman did to him. Driven hard, he was uncharacteristically rough with the power of his body, but gratified to feel her not only holding steady against his rush, but lifting one of her feet up on the jump bar seeking more leverage with which to push back harder against him. Again he swept a hand down to the crux of her. Currently incapable of finesse, his hard massage seemed to be what she wanted most as her body responded to his. Her head dropped as she arched her back, changing the angle inside. The alteration in pressure was the pathway to freedom they were both seeking so hungrily, and the heavy machine rocked with the force of their movements. Canaan could hear the desperate need in the sounds muffled by the mask he wore and knowing she made him feel this way started her breaking first. The rhythmic contractions he felt on himself within her compelled his own release. This shared climax was as their entire encounter: sudden, with violent intensity.

Both breathless and shaking, they struggled just to remain standing after. Canaan kept her hands flat on the seat, arms trembling with the effort it had taken not to collapse forward under him. Lucifer wrapped both of his around her body, resting his muzzled cheek on her shoulder. After a few moments the air on her exposed skin became too chilling and she shivered. Lucifer kept her facing away, unzipping the camelbak she was wearing to take out one of the cloth napkins he'd packed. He cleaned her gently, them himself and as she turned to him pulling her clothes up she shook her helmeted head in wry amusement as he held the napkin high in the air, letting the wind take it and waving it goodbye. He straightened his own gear, retrieved his gloves from where he'd thrown them and helped her onto the seat. Stretching a long leg over in front of her he briefly turned to look over his shoulder as he sat down, holding one finger up in admonishment 'be good'. She gave a reasonable facsimile of a 'what, who me?' shrug right back at him, to which he just tilted his head and shook it in mock disdain. Starting the 'mobile, this time her 'Ready/Go' taps were right on the curve of his backside, and he swiftly reached back to return the favor. The entire brief happenstance had been in near silence, but when he felt her arms close tightly around him again as he pulled back onto the trail, Lucifer felt as close to her as if they'd talking for hours. Which is what they wound up doing after they arrived.


	31. Through the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That weirdness which was introduced stage left back in Chapter 10 now steps down to sit with the audience. And the line '…each another's audience outside the gilded cage…" in the song "Limelight' by Rush is a nice example (imho) of the forever linking relationship between 'watcher and watched' as well as the fallacy of separation there is where the relationship between matter/energy and identity are concerned. Fine folks from Plato to Heraclitus mention variants on the constancy of change philosophies; this applies to science as well.

[ This didn't all fit in the summary, sorry. Good sources in Scientific American and Boundless if interested. Some basic science stuffs useful here for those not familiar:  
E=MC2 tells us that mass and energy are related, and, in those rare instances where mass is converted totally into energy, how much energy that will be. The elegance with which it ties together three disparate parts of nature—energy, the speed of light and mass—is profound.  
Three laws of Thermodynamics:  
The first known as Law of Conservation of Energy, states that energy cannot be created or destroyed in an isolated system, it merely changes form. (important here and later)  
The second law of thermodynamics states that the entropy of any isolated system always increases (Lucifer's understanding of the direction relationships of matter and energy take mentioned in Chapter 25)  
The third law of thermodynamics states that the entropy of a system approaches a constant value as the temperature approaches absolute zero (the malevolent darkness leading to oblivion Lucifer fears mentioned in Chapter 16)  
Douglas Adams fans will recognize the significance of the number 42.  
And now on with the show...]

[ - ]

Which is what they wound up doing after they arrived. Lucifer slowed the snowmobile as the trail became flattened and broader, tall evergreens fading to dormant rhododendron and azaleas. These in turn gave way to dry amber grasses peeking through the white drifts they coasted over, ending in the snow-covered stones of the lakeshore. The silence after the engine was off was the second loudest sound Canaan had ever heard. For a moment they just sat, taking it all in, letting the vibration of the engine seep from their bodies. The sheer walls of the narrow valley occluded every far-ranging view except the snapping blue sky above and the uneven borders of rock and dark trees framing it. The juxtaposition of openness and privacy was something that Canaan felt instantly in harmony with, and she just couldn't help squeezing the person in front of her in appreciation of what he was sharing. Lucifer smiled under his mask. He knew she'd love this.

Broken out of her reverie by a sharp bark, Canaan slid off the side of the machine and removed her helmet, squinting her eyes against the brightness. It looked like Cearrebus was standing on the riffling surface…wait, how was this not frozen anyway? She walked toward the edge, the dazzle fading as her eyes adjusted. Small wisps of steam blew over the surface, and she removed a glove to dip her fingers at the lacy, ice-rimed edge. Warm? She brought her hand to her nose…a tangy, metallic scent. Not unpleasant, just unique. 'What the color of an evening thundercloud might smell like', she thought. She turned back to where Lucifer still sat astride the 'mobile, her eyebrows raised in question at him.

"Hot springs feed this."

"Ah." This explained a lot. But not everything. "And your magic freaking dog walks on water?"

He chuckled, climbing off, removing his goggles and pulling the gaiter and mask down to his neck. "No. The talent of manipulating elements is reserved for only a select few, I'm afraid." She felt a funny thump in her chest as she realized she'd missed his smile; even though it had only been a short time since she'd seen it. Deep, deep trouble…definitely in over her head here….and that…that felt really good. As if she'd been drowning and by wonderful accident she suddenly found she could breathe underwater and a limitless new dimension was opening for her to explore…

He caught the alteration in her expression and for a second wished he still had the mask on to hide the huge grin he knew was spreading on his face. He changed his mind when he saw her return the same one to him. They both turned as Cearrebus barked at them again…Canaan's eyes had adjusted completely and now she could see the animal was standing on something over the water. She heard a playful voice at her ear, "C'mon!" She let out a small gleeful squeak as Lucifer raced past her, grabbing her hand like a truant child escaping school with a friend on a late-spring day. Only a short distance from where they'd parked were a few wooden steps up to a long, low walkway over the water, grayed and bowed with exposure to the elements, supporting stilts crusted with latticeworks of brine. Cearrebus was at the T-shaped end, waiting for them.

He still hadn't released her hand and as they walked down the planks, boots echoing hollowly over the snow-covered wood and it was this sort of little gesture more than anything else from him that was so…incongruently beyond words and logic; these latter longstanding elements of her safety net and barriers against the harshness of the world and/or other incomprehensible bits. But they held her apart from beauty, too. She'd have to relinquish those some more to have this…whatever this was…and she felt herself not only soften, but for the first time, feel more welcome than fear in the process. This feeling…oh. The realization actually stopped her where she stood, looking down at her snowy boots. 'Literally, right in my tracks. Fucking hilarious; I've become a personification of cliché!' The incredible ridiculousness of it all struck her funny, and she burst out laughing. Lucifer, who had been in the middle of explaining how the local geographical formations allowed several mineral springs to converge and bubble to the surface here was mystified.

"Pray tell, what is so comical about the cumulative effects of continental drift?"

She couldn't possibly tell him what she'd been thinking. Throwing him an "I don't know!" as gales of laughter bent her nearly in half, the ringing sounds echoing off the rock walls. In the far reaches of the canyon, a shadow deepened in response. Noticing.

Hands on hips, looking down at his slight companion twisted in mirth, Lucifer just shook his head, amused. "You are a mad one, hey?" He still had difficulty dovetailing the expressive versions of Canaan with the cordially taciturn professional side she showed everyone else. People could be so unpredictable sometimes. This one particularly.

She gasped something at him, but he could not understand her response, strangled in new laughter as it was. He tilted his head toward her, the schoolmarm primness of his expression just convulsing her further. "Sorry, come again?"

She tried once more, head bowed, hands on her knees; still breathless with giggles. "The guy claiming to be a fallen angel says I'm looped. Not really sure of an appropriate response to that. " His eyebrows raised and his expression turned thoughtfully appraising. She'd just cracked open the same door she'd slammed shut months ago. 'Oh, is this how we're going to broach on then?' he thought. Curious to see how far she'd go he responded.

"Not 'a' fallen angel, dear. 'The' fallen angel." His tone was not without levity, but not so much that he was letting her simply brush his words away with more humor.

Coming up, but still bent over with palms on her thighs, Canaan lifted her head to look directly at him. Her hazel eyes flashed intensely…their colors deep and clear like the water, stone and sky surrounding them. Lucifer became still. This was as present as he'd ever felt her. Not hiding herself. Not deflecting him. Just considering his response.

"Did you jump or were you pushed? Or both?" He was taken aback; not in a deleterious way; simply astonished at the unexpected insight of her candor. Before he could speak she straightened up and waved one 'hang on, there' palm at him and patted the ruff of Cerberus with the other where he'd come to stand beside her. Gargantuan fuzzy moral support. "Well. Certainly seems like something I should be sitting down to hear more about. Being a mere puny mortal and all." She was surprised to hear him grouse under his breath. It sounded strangely like, "Well, I'm not certain of that, actually…"

"Excuse me, what?"

"Nothing, love. Here…help me get us settled." He took the pack she'd been carrying from her back, and they knelt to empty the contents together. "Although I must ask…you people (hearing him make that distinction was still so VERY weird) are nothing if not imaginative. In all manner of ways, for good or ill. Is it really so very difficult to imagine something beyond yourselves?"

She thought about this; not the concept, but how to construct an answer someone very different might be able to understand in the manner she intended.

"Other than idiots on reality TV or the like, I really don't think the average person, if pressed, would say what they are would be the sum total of all the universe could come up with. Lots of religion and philosophy to indicate otherwise, right? I do think however, expressing what that actually might entail is much more difficult. And not just meeting life elsewhere or whatever…that's sort of a lateral move although it would be pretty spectacular…I mean the concept of *something entirely different*. As you say you are."

"I don't just 'say'. I am."

"Right, fine. This is what I mean. We're…" flipping one hand back and forth between them, indicating some sort of connection she could not voice "…and here I am talking to you, and it's still a struggle. I'm far from stupid though I may seem otherwise more often than I'd like, and not not open-minded either….but I almost feel like it's beyond my ken to grasp. Like trying to imagine a completely novel color. That also lives and breathes and moves and thinks in complete difference from anything I've ever been able to experience whether in reality or imagination. Can you understand that?"

He flickered his eyebrows and glanced at her sideways. Then was quiet for a time, as she was. More words wouldn't make that any clearer. Although there was one other thing…

"And this…" her hand flipping again, this time up and down in front of his body "…if you're being straight with me, than this is in no way an accurate representation of you. Pretty, but…pseudopod-ish? Not conclusive?"

"Yes. That is correct. But it's similar for any sentience…some more than others."

They lapsed back into quiet.

That silence between them was not strained, just gravid with possibility. As Lucifer had felt sharing her gaze, Canaan began to sense his presence beside her far more strongly than she ever had before. It was as if she'd been looking at a black and white image that was suddenly becoming saturated with those new inventions of color from underneath…filling all the familiar lines and shades with lush vibrancy. The feeling flooded over her, like music just beyond her range, silent to her ears but thrumming through every heartbeat, every breath, every cell of her body joining with her surroundings. Invisibly and irrevocably connected. She stood slowly, inhaling, feeling the crisp air fill her lungs…newly aware of each singular molecule filtering through her alveoli, each corpuscle exchanging stagnation for the breath of life to play its part in the universe inside her…and then the convex flip of reversal. Each finite heartbeat of hers radiating out within the forever choral pulse of the life in this world, one world of many, all beating in patterns of singularly unique complex tones establishing the percussive pulse of this galaxy, this universe and others. A vibrant mandala of rippling lives, waters, suns, skies, solids – the rhythms threaded through the fluid dance of intangibility all just below the surface of perception. Always present. Never obvious. The wide clarity was incredible.

Thunderstruck, she gradually cast her gaze down over at Lucifer, who was watching her with a little grin on his face. Canaan's eyes widened as she looked into his, the totality of the multiverse(s) minutely expressed in his dark irises glowing like embers in a windblown fire. Fawn to chestnut, ecru to ochre, mahogany to umber. Crimson? Getting lost, she barely noticed the wonder growing in his smile…not many humans could tolerate this many layers in their understanding of reality thinned away. It was her art that let him know her boundaries…the degree of detail and nuance in her work altering reality from her reference pictures, themselves art. Letting him know how deeply she might be able to sense, even if she wasn't aware of it herself. He was always one to push limits and seeing her response of awe in it all just encouraged him. But Canaan wasn't constructed as he was…and it suddenly became too much - she felt herself becoming untethered, loose from the stability of her body. She closed her eyes, then her hands over her face but only felt as if she was falling inward – too far – too far down – too close…

The shadow in the far cliff grew stronger…sensing weak frequencies…learning.

"Lucifer!" Her gasp was not of pain…but not far off. He jolted free of his fascination, halting the awareness of energetic flow around her immediately, reaching up to pull her down into his embrace. Holding her tightly as they sat on the dock steps, Cerberus coming to lay against their legs. The grounding stability of them was welcome as she struggled to breathe normally. The irony of the fact that she was being reassured after an incomprehensible experience by incomprehensible beings wasn't lost on her, and she huffed. Lucifer took the sound for distress.

"Ah Canaan - I'm sorry! I thought…"

"No…shhhh…" Still with her eyes closed Canaan brought shaking fingertips to his mouth, stilling him. After breathing quietly for a few minutes she finally opened her eyes. The world was as it had always been, but the deeply saturated memories of what she had seen lay over the view everywhere she looked. It was deliciously incongruous and the wild part of her already missed it as it faded away to a safe place in her mind. Finally she spoke.

"I have a completely new perspective on our drug-seekers."

Once again, hearing a wholly pragmatic response both reassured and tickled him. Lucifer let out a small sigh of relief; he was afraid he'd pushed her too far. She looked up at him, just a little surprised that his eyes were the same warm brown she'd always known, not backlit from inner fire. Those had somehow seemed more real. He saw her brow furrow.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh yes! Astounded, but fine. It's just…" she stumbled over how she wanted to phrase this question, and he gave her the time she needed. "…was that anything like…the rain? My balcony? For you?" He could hear the hedge in her voice and smiled. She'd just been through a rather profound experience and had it tied to his comfort regarding a situation they'd never discussed. That whole 'weaving of diverse thread' skill he found so intriguing in others, probably because he was a master of it.

"Somewhat." He'd never let on how nearly shattering it had been to have none of his controls to protect him. He did tell the truth that had surprised him during.

"You're stronger than you know." He'd needed her to help hold him together then, and incredibly, she had. "I still wouldn't make a habit of that little trick, however. Play with fire often enough and you'll…"

"Get burned. Right. Speaking of…" She took a deep breath and blew it out, still incredulous, much more aware of being in over her head. Feeling unreal. Feeling mostly okay with that, maybe, but…"I know what I said earlier. I do mean it, but…"

"…maybe a little break first?" He smiled at her, teasing, letting his eyes illuminate for less than a second – shocked when she did it back just as quickly: the shining colors of this earth and sky concentrated before him. Comprised of sentient matter, which is only intelligent energy condensed, some mortal beings could learn to manipulate that energy, but whether natural or trained, they were rare. This implied more than the 'simple' disturbances he'd noticed around her periodically. He was more cautious now; this was complicated.

"Canaan…?"

"What?"

He was unable to tell if she was being acerbically obtuse or serious with him, and decided to just let it go for the moment. "Here, grab these will you?" He handed her a small plate, knife and flask, and he watched her walk down the two steps to the water's edge in front of the dock. He glanced up at the sky. Only wide winter blue above…but he felt the same 'warm cloak' of certainty in transition come to rest over him as it had when he left her home months ago. So strange….so…wonderful. In less than a day's time he'd be desperate for it.

It took her a little convincing as the bright air was sharp and cold, but after watching Lucifer shuck his clothes into a pile and walk placidly down the wooden steps onto the stone ones carved in the rock below the surface she was tempted. Moreso when he took the flask, plate, knife and treats out further to where a flat stone barely crested the water's surface. She watched as he relaxed back on an angled rock, small wisps of steam rising around him and took a long draught from the flask.

"Hey! What have you got in there anyway?"

"Come in and find out before it's gone…the food as well." Smiling impishly at her and biting off nearly half a small pear. He loved seeing her piqued: it was highly entertaining. Jaw snapped shut, hair in a wild tumble over the dark jacket and if history was any judge, probably with her stomach growling.

"Well. Can you believe that nerve?" Derogatorily toned comment directed to the pile of happy fluff basking on the dock. Cearrebus just snuffed at her, rolling onto his back to sun his belly. "Sure. YOU have a fur coat. What do you care?"

Realizing she was getting nowhere with either of them, and certainly no refreshments as she was, Canaan tied up her hair and shivering, removed her outerwear and clothes. Arms crossed over her quaking body, she put a cautious foot down on the first stone step.

"Oh come on…there's nothing in here that'll bite...except me, that is." She cast a wry glance over at what she now considered to be his 'devil' expression…all active eyebrows and sly grin. Usually followed up with a dropped chin and sardonic stare…yep, there it was. She unable to touch bottom after the first step and swam over. Normally not terribly 'girly' about getting her hair wet, she was reluctant to deal with follicular popsicles on the way back. Fortunately she found that he was moored in a cluster of large, quasi-submerged plinths, some more conducive to those under six feet tall. And the water really was quite warm. She found a spot to park nearby, rear on a smooth flat stone, legs to her chest with an arm around them and only her kneecaps and shoulders out. The contrast of exposure was actually quite pleasant. It was almost perfect. She filched the flask from him and enjoyed a pleasant mouthful of quality Irish whisky, feeling it warm her from the inside out. Now, perfect. Well…swiping a hunk of cheese he was slicing from the 'serving rock'. Really perfect. Liberating the bitten pear and some crackers she slowly turned on the rock as she ate, taking in all the stark beauty of the crevasse. Looking toward the far western end, already in darkness in the short sun of the winter day. Dark hiding dark.

"What's over there?"

"Same thing as everywhere out here…caves riddled into the limestone and shale over this whole area. It's why there are so many slides…friable stone."

"How much of this is yours?"

"It's all mine. Whatever I need. Or decide I do. Perks of the position, demoted or otherwise." She shot him a look. He was jumping right in. Short break, indeed.

"A portion of infinity is still infinity to most. Perhaps you might learn more about only your little end of it, yes?" The haughtiness she'd seen more often early on was present here. He was apprehensive, which struck her as odd. She leaned back, head tilted; really looking at him. An image of a wary peacock came to mind.

"Judging are we, cheese nicker?" She hadn't responded to him yet, and he sounded a bit strained under his airs.

"No." She wasn't.

"Why not? Most others seem to have a great deal of ill-informed opinions about me."

Well, this was not an auspicious start. And a load of total nonsense. She'd never judged him; or most anyone really as she considered her own deficits rendered her incapable of holding moral high ground. Even her discomfort with the nail-everything-legal-with-legs thing was more about her problems with her own attachment than his behavior; he clearly had a much different perspective on sex than she did. But she wasn't going to let him petulantly just lump her in with whatever issues he was hiding, either.

"Mmmhmm…want another bottle for that persecution complex you're nursing?" His jaw dropped and he stared at her…he could not believe she just…wait…her eyes were twinkling. Her mouth curved up and she laughed at him, gently chiding. "Drawing conclusions about anyone, least of all you – whomever you say you are - isn't really part of my makeup. I stopped trying to figure how and why things happen a long time ago. Above my pay grade – we discussed this. People and events are often too complex and even too obscured to make accurate snapshot assessments of anyway, so it's an exercise in futility. Also as we discussed. There's a little electronic vignette I'm sure you'd love, being such a fan of the romance of social media…" chuckling at him as he wrinkled his nose in disgust "…it goes 'I try not to judge since I'm a little fucked up myself'.''

"That so?" Still aloof.

"Sure. Who's not?"

"Me."

"Reeeaaallllly. Are you certain of that?" A short silence. His apprehension was more obvious. As was his frustration.

"You're parrying. Again. So be it. I do judge. I am one. And jury, and sentencer – or used to, full-time. More of a consultant basis now." Setting his jaw. Daring confrontation. The funny thing was, just as in her line of work, the more outlandish a situation or distressed any person became, the more evenness of affect she cultivated. So…

"Going with your premise, I thought God judged."

"No. God forgives and accepts. Mostly. Present company excluded." Self-depreciating snort of derision. "I parse through what's left over. Some I pass on to my father, others are held for a time; time being a concept relevant to plane of existence, but that's another conversation entirely. The rest I detain."

"I thought George Carlin said the Catholics got rid of limbo?"

He frowned at her attempt to lighten the conversation. "Spirit and religion are two completely distinct edifices of understanding. Religious sects have nothing to do with anything true – real truth, which is why all the wars you people fight here over what you think God is, or I am, or what we're all supposed to be doing are so pointlessly ludicrous. Like arguing over how to write letters or characters in different languages. They're only symbols, Canaan. Vehicles of meaning. And meaning sluices through words like hot water through ice – same intrinsic element - H2O: different forms. Changeable forms. Want spirit? Steam. It's freedom in the same conceptualization. It's beyond frustrating to see how…" He exhaled angrily here, "…you people here have free will…as a God-given gift. A right knitted into your very souls. Not everything in creation does. And most of you use it to make pointless rules for torture of yourselves and each other. And continue it in Hell. Ridiculous waste of energy." He was very upset by this and seeing his distress was hard.

"Do you have…a soul?" Still couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth.

"Don't need one. I'm immortal, despite some past brushes to the contrary."

Wow.

"What happens to the ones… the souls you don't get?" Canaan wasn't even sure how he defined 'souls' as she certainly couldn't but he seemed bent on going someplace fast. She was aware at how quickly this was deteriorating away from her comfort in logic, but was morbidly curious to see what he had to say.

"Souls of humans? I actually have no idea. I'd left Heaven epochs before before any of you people died, and my father hasn't seen fit to confide in me for a very long time."

She was silent. This conversation was well-past downright bizarre. He was also right in that parrying was natural to her now. But she sensed as strange as this was it seemed really important to him….and she'd seen such…inexplicable things. All right. Deep mental breath. Next.

"So…"

"Yes? Come on, little girl. Use that mind you've been gifted."

She bristled.

"Don't be a dick." Wait, can one call the devil a dick? Apparently. She'd not gone up in a puff of smoke yet. Shaking her head and continuing on. "Does – did – Eden exist?"

"Removed as punishment for disobedience. Your lunatic fringe stories keep twisting it up with Atlantis legends."

"Then there was an Adam and Eve?" Her nose wrinkled. She had always hated that story, for more than a few reasons.

Lucifer leaned his head back at the sky, eyes rolled and expression of pure distaste ripening. "This yarn always confounds me. If there were only two humans to start with none of you would've lasted more than a few incestuous generations before morphing into three-eyed, seven limbed genetic fallouts. And you didn't start out 'as humans' anyway. The only true constant God has is change. Part of the design."

Score one for evolution.

"So the whole 'created in His image' thing…"

"True, but we all are. God is rather complex, mind."

"Jesus? Buddha? Gilgamesh -"

He cut her off. "Stop. They're not a shopping list. One can explain all. And it's Yeshua. Emmanuel. You don't think one of us taking human form as male Jewish peasant in the Middle East – hotbed of geopolitical contention for ages here - as if that sandbox had anything useful besides culture and flammable sludge to pollute your planet with. Oh, and the library of Alexandria – nope, wait; you all torched that, idiots. Forgot. So, why would Yeshua be a white man with blue eyes and an Anglicized name? Well then? What about him?"

"Son of God?"

"Not the first. Not the only."

"What?"

"Hard pass, you're not ready for that yet. Yes, a son of God. No, not the only. You all have had plenty of teachers here and you still insist on burying your heads in sand. As if God had only one child, they would be sent here. HERE. As you mentioned, you can't seriously think there's something so spectacular about your tiny little planet: third rock from a third rate sun, backwoods arm of a very average galaxy; only one of a stupendously large number existing right now at the same time…not counting all those in the past and future of this universe alone. You people don't even have contact with any of those 'spectacularly lateral species' inside of your own neighborhood yet." Seeing the shock on her face. "Oops, right – your planet. You can barely communicate across species lines. One of the most sentient families with you on this little orb are the cetaceans – and you people use some for entertainment and melt others for lipstick. Until you bloody well grow up none of the other big kids will ever want to get on with you. Yes, of COURSE God would send his ONLY son here as you're all just so special."

He was furious. God had certainly kept him here inexplicably of late.

"And look how he was treated! Lauded and killed within a very short span of time by the very same people he tried so hard for!" For whatever reason, this world was Yeshua's little pet project. Like a kid with an ant farm. He had great affection for his youngest brother despite the rift; having even tried to talk him out of his own 'little experiments in harmony' with the humans - to no avail, obviously. Worried for him, and rightly so in the end. They'd tortured a peacemaker, and not the only time, either – reprehensible these creatures could be, which is why punishing when they were could be so distressingly satisfying. If their proverbial act didn't get cleaned up they were going to well deserve the lion coming to replace the lamb.

"How very like myopic children you are. Your trying to understand God accurately is like your scientists explaining quantum physics to ants. All exist: ants, scientists, quantum physics, but there's no frame of reference that adequately encompasses those three well enough to understand each other on the same plane. Or even dimension. God is limitless and you have no idea what that actually means. You can't possibly. You're intended to seek, not always understand what you find. That incongruity is what galvanizes you forward. Obsequiously chasing the 'what's the meaning of life' chestnut. And no, the answer isn't 42. And the essential dissatisfaction inherent in that is part of your punishment."

"For what?"

"Eden." He said this with exasperation, as if she should've known what he meant. "It was a repository of knowledge and exploration, not some weedy, hippie love nest. Part of the requirement of being allowed to develop sentience by God is taking responsibility for it. An 'as you learn better you do better' sort of thing. An Eden - every sentient species gets one tailored for their needs – is a series of tools to augment the path of that development. A latticework of compounding knowledge if you will. Hands went dipping into that cookie jar too soon, and it was decided that if you thought you knew best then you could just accept the consequences and learn on your own without training wheels. Or helmets."

"That's harsh…everyone paying through the nose for the mistakes of one person."

"Not one. More than a few, I assure you. Definite inclination of archetype. God's fault, really."

"I thought you just said God didn't make people outright?"

Dramatic sigh and beautiful brown eye roll. "Love, who do you think provides the raw materials and trends the energy of creation? It's not Haliburton."

"So God took it away…"

"No. I did." This was hard for him. To face the flaw and schisms within himself when he remembered the idea of perfection was hard. His specific memories of Heaven were as clouded as his mind was now, lost to the vagaries of impression. He did remember being angry enough to show his father how it felt to have something precious taken away. And had paid so very dearly for that…was still paying for it. As much muddled in confusion as humans were over the repercussions. His wings had been taken not when he fell, but after – to show him what it would be like not to have a guide and access to all his power like these mortals, maybe? He hadn't been told; it simply happened to the best of his knowledge. The loss was far worse for him because he knew the true gravity of it. Perhaps he was tasked to stay here to learn those lessons he could not know. Or not – with no communication he had no idea. In this, he was just like them, floundering away. He looked away from Canaan and up to the empty sky. Becoming angry. Again.

She sat still, pressing her fingertips into the hard stone beneath to ground herself. This was…fascinating. Bludgeoning.

"Angels."

"Is that a question?"

"Are they…are you…?"

"Real? Yes, as you can understand that word. I'm right in front of you, aren't I? We were the first of God's creations, and I was the first of all. You still need a pass on this one; I can see it in your face."

"Saints, religious – er – spiritual leaders. Same."

Long impatient exhale. Trying to calm himself and remember that she hadn't asked for this. For him.

"Not what you think. Not necessarily called or anointed. Or chosen. By God OR those who think of themselves as representatives. Not all are noticed by others, either. And you people jumping on board with more rules, or canonization or whatever you're calling it now, has nothing to do with who they are and what they can become."

"Which is…?"

"Sentient beings, in any race, at any time, anywhere across the all the universes that are, will be and have been that can learn to transcend the forms they were born into on their own. When living. By manipulating the energy everything's comprised of and therefore manipulating themselves and other things as well. Sometimes they can teach others and that can lead to rather exponential jumps in general consciousness. It also rather significantly changes their opportunities after their physical bodies die – they can have more autonomy and therefore some truly spectacular options. It's quite rare." Thinking of her eyes flashing back at his. He could tell now she'd not been aware of it. Again, confusing as the amount of energy it took to harness corporeal change was astonishing in a being whose acquired physical form was not direct divine creation.

"So, people…any other sentients…don't become angels when they die – if they are accepted by God into Heaven – or wherever - that is…"

Scoff. "Of course not. We have intrinsic similarities but are completely different."

"But you look like…"

"I can 'look like' anything I wish. Here, I happen to like this form. Seems to be popular with others as you've seen. You've some affinity for it as well, hey?" He was teasing her, and not kindly.

This long vent of barely explained concepts (if it was even real and not just some crazy flight of ideas…but again, such inexplicable things she'd seen…) was wearing on her. He saw it and pounced.

"You have the opportunity of ages open to you. Others here would literally kill for this as they certainly do for far less interesting prospects. Me answering your human questions. And I can tell you've not even turned your brain onto the totality of all I am yet. Have you now?" He glared at her, not really expecting an answer.

He was right. She hadn't. Purposefully. Despite the far-ranging superficial scatter over bizarre topics, up until now the discussion had been framed in the guise of a simple Q & A academic exercise. Careful consideration of who was in the conversation with her would be more difficult. The same lens tuned on how she felt about him might yield far more intricate answers, and not wholly because of what she felt, but that she did at all regardless of who it was.

"Don't bugger this up, Canaan. It's a rare chance you're holding in your human hands." Nearly spitting out these words in ire, Lucifer was blinded to the hidden double meaning in his last sentence, but Canaan heard it and knew it came as their other shocks of perfectly fitting words did. And the true flash of where that might have originated struck her hard enough to blench her posture. Lucifer saw it and mistakenly interpreted her falter to his affect. He felt momentary chagrin. Momentary only. Aware that his intensity was bordering on cruelty, Lucifer still felt a wash of renewed resentment over his present situation on this plane, on this rock, and being flummoxed at so many things about that and this human in particular. Trying to make her unintentional effects less real. Having less sway over him. He detested feeling controlled even if this wasn't her fault.

Seeing his emotional display she went silent thinking, 'Here we go. At least we don't seem to fall to pieces at the same time. That's got to be good, right?'

"Well? Still nothing?" Getting no reaction at all seemed to be unhinging him.

New plan required.

She had a suspicion that the rest of this conversation was going to be less about her learning about him and more about his learning what she thought of him. Why he seemed to need that she had no idea. But perfectly acceptable as she felt nakedly out of her depth (literally as well as figuratively at this particular moment). At least she was certain of what was in her own head (for the most part). However….Canaan leaned over to whisk the flask out of his hand. Going toe-to-toe with a, no sorry, the fallen angel…a human needing a little more liquid courage was perfectly in order.

He still had his jaw set, glaring. Right. Time to bite. As always, she preferred being direct. And he looked like he'd trapped himself. Wanting her to hear and respond to him and shutting her down at the same time for doing it. Giving him an out, she spoke evenly, "You're unsettled. Which is a little odd since I'm the one having to learn here. On a rather steep curve, 'mind'. How do you want to do this? Because I don't know, this isn't the sort of conversation I've ever had before…much less who with."

He ignored her last phrase. "What, no great moral discussions over those philosophy books of yours? Are they just for show then?" Still defensive. She still wasn't.

"Nope – don't really have folks over often enough to 'show off'. But at one point in my education, I had those sorts of conversations often. With people. Within our frame of reference. However, even if you are what you say…" pointing a warning finger over the flask at the narrowing of his eyes "…I did say 'if' - don't get caught up in logistics – we're different. You're you and I'm me. Regardless of what definitions you want to apply our experiences differ vastly. And not all skewed to benefit your 'high-and-mightiness', either, because I am telling you, I've some experiences under my belt you've not."

Again, he saw her eyes flash. He might not agree with what she just said, but she certainly felt strongly about it so he remained silent. Canaan sighed, and softened her voice. This was hard for both of them.

"So what exactly do you think prepares either one of us to use past frames of reference for any future discussions on this topic between us, hmm? Seems not the most intelligent option." She took another sip and handed him back the flask, muttering 'quantum physics and ants; for fuck's sake' under her breath. The amount of profanity she was using both in her head and allowing to seep audibly was bordering on grueling work day par. He became quieter, looking down at the water.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Now she could add confusion to her list of issues. Great.

"Not get angry…"

"I get plenty angry…you just haven't really seen it. Although this is a good path…"

He twisted his mouth in derision. He was fairly certain her display the last time they had this topic under discussion after Mazikeen's stunt warranted a decent generic definition of anger. "You interrupted. I was going to finish, 'when provoked'?"

Oh. So that's what this was. Okay. "Well, I ask myself why it's happening. Because that can change everything."

Perplexed look from the other rock. Swig from flask.

She rested her chin on her crossed wrists on her knees and stared somewhere far past his shoulder. Trying again. Deciding that there would never be an opportunity quite like this one at quite this stage. Going for broke.

"There is so much I don't understand about you – not just who you are, or say you are, or your past; none of that I can put a finger on. Yet. Maybe ever. And I'm so not someone who gets lost in things like this – when I don't know everything. Never was. Also ever." (He appreciated her honesty here, and the little glimpse it gave him). Canaan saw his expression relax a bit, not knowing why as she did not find her own words particularly comforting. She pressed on. "But here we are. Together." Spreading her hands out to indicate their place in the glorious day around them. "And I don't think you'd have me here if you didn't feel something maybe you couldn't explain either. Which is likely just as strange for you as it is for me – or more so – who knows? For my part, I think you're one of the most beautiful things I've ever been near, and I've already told you why.

He remembered. 'I've been witness to miracle and tragedy….I think you're both, and that is what makes you beautiful to me.' He'd kept these words from their first night guarded like the gift she intended them to be.

"And I don't just mean your intelligence, or appearance, or the way yours make my body feel, or the kind things you do and say…or even the completely confusing things you do and say. And Lucifer, that's a lot…you must realize this." she watched his eyes drop again. "It's just you…and me being somehow strangely aware of the total of all those things greater than the sum of each part I can know empirically."

He kept still. Listening.

"And I can recognize unresolved pain when I see it..." His eyes closed under furrowed brows. She kept on. "…because I understand it. On several levels." Palm on her scar. Fingertips dug in over her heart and her left temple. Waiting for him to recover enough to meet her eye. He did, concerned for a moment for her, but she was laser-focused on him.

"And no matter what else there is, whatever I understand or don't, know about or don't…I see you move through part of this world, with your pain, your joy, your life…and now a portion of mine with the most astoundingly authentic presence I've ever seen…and I feel happy to be part of that. And it mystifies me." She paused, her turn to look down at the water. Quieter. "You help me to feel. Again. And it's something confusing and lovely…and that capability is a part of me I thought I locked away long ago. So how could I be angry? You may think you're wielding provocation; but it's first-strike defense of yourself because of your experience with all those things I don't know and therefore can't understand. And I want to tell you…everything else aside…that you don't have to do either. With me. I know and understand enough."

He looked over at her. Appraising. Feeling unexpectedly soothed even though there was so much yet unsaid. Which was hard to believe after the torrent of words from both sides, but still true.

"Thank you."

She tilted her palm up at him, past words for the moment.

They were silent for a time afterwards. On their separate rocks. In their separate thoughts. Feeling the same: a little raw, a little broken…a little dazzled. Happy. And appreciative of each other and this strange chance, mysteries and all.

The brief winter afternoon began to fade, the sun dipping beyond the far western wall and the shadows there lengthening over the colorful glares on the wind-capped water. Dark threads in those shadows, seeking the breaks in the integrities of the living spirits. Sniffing, sensing…approaching. Canaan and Lucifer had come to sit on a larger rock together, not talking anything of consequence, just enjoying. They had been facing southwest to see the colors of the slants of sun played with over the sky and water when they heard Cearrebus bark. Lucifer looked over his shoulder at the animal on the dock. He was upright, nose in the air, hackles raised slightly. No immediate alarm; just wary. Looking past the dog to the shoreline and tree laden path to the ridge he thought, 'Well, that sorts it.'

"It's far later than I thought; getting dark. Come on, we've got to go. No shenanigans on the way back, mind, or it'll be pitch black crossing over that rim. Dangerous for mortals, that. Besides, you're probably ready to eat again, aren't you?" She rolled her eyes…but he was right. He moved away to the dock, carrying what was left. Turning back to chide her into hurrying but falling silent.

She'd stood up on the rock, climbing to the top of it, pruny skin so warmed and soothed by the long soak that the chill wind felt good. Looking into the evaporating light. Up on her toes, lifting her arms high above her head with fingers spread to reach out and touch as much of the air sieving past her as she could. Holding the stretch as if she could dive straight up into the abalone sky. This was the most alive she'd felt in a very, very long time, and remembering the look on her face and the strength in her stance were what Lucifer would soon find he needed most. The shadows retreated. Waiting. They were patient.


	32. Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title says it all and the end of the chapter has a short, explicit scene in it. Since they've had a somewhat mentally exhausting afternoon and the evening will be too (plus everything else will turn to crisis quite soon otherwise), it seemed nice to give them a lovely send-off. Marker in text warning of it.

[ - ]

"I don't know if I want to eat it or bathe in it. Or both, simultaneously. Yes. Screw spoons."

Lucifer looked over his shoulder at Canaan at the table. She was hunched over her bowl of soup, arms curled around it and nose far too close and for too long than just catching a swift sniff. Defrosting, rather. Chuckling, he brought his own bowl over, along with the small loaf of warm crusty bread. His cheeks were likely as pink and windblown as hers and he was sure his hair was standing on end with the same static fueling the fiery nimbus of chestnut waves over her shoulders. It had been a very cold, faster trip back through the forest and over the ridge. He'd not wanted to worry her, but the apprehension Cearrebus had been showing as they got their gear together at the lake, then the animal's wariness all the way back concerned him. It was only after Lucifer and Canaan had come through the garage from the outbuilding to hang up their ice-crusted trappings that the dog relaxed.

"…out early to see…"

Oh, she'd been speaking. He'd gotten a bit stuck on appreciating the hot soup in front of him as she had, pleased the scent had been there to greet them after the frigid dimness outside. More pleased she was with him to share it.

"Sorry love, what?"

She held out a 'hang-on' hand in front of her, mouth full of bread. He quirked a smile at her. At this rate any semblance of decent dinner conversation just seemed ridiculously impossible.

"I said, 'I was thinking of trying to get out early to see what I could see on a walk'."

"Well, wake me up if you do." He had no plans to go out into the cold again this evening, and without knowing what had bothered Cearrebus had nothing specific to warn her against…though he had his suspicions. Especially after her surprising little display this afternoon. His very nature and long occupation meant the starving darkness used him as a source to find energetic suffering to feed on, but she seemed nearly overwhelmed by just the (truly) superficial conversation they'd had. Understandable. Most humans had to compare/contrast new information to something they already knew – they were relational learners and he was definitely a paradigm shift. It seemed overkill to tell her more now, especially since he wasn't sure himself of what she might have going on beneath her surface. Quite surprising indeed, this one.

He realized she was looking at him with a bemusedly irritated glint in her eye. "Might not be all-powerful and angel-y but I'm not a child you know. Can actually manage to put shoes on, drive, brush my teeth, pay bills and oh yes, walk outside unsupervised."

"Smartarse."

Good, she was laughing at him.

"Besides, I've further plans for you this evening. Might need to sleep in if I wear you out…or you find you can't walk straight after…can't have you tilting off mountain tops now can we?" This was a bloody brilliant idea, obviously, so he leaned in a little, lecherous gleam dancing.

She laughed again, embarrassment, anticipation and chagrin all shading over her face. "Nice manners. Classy. No wonder you got demoted to the kids' table."

Surprising himself, he chuckled. Clearly his perception of himself and his situation were painful, but by gently pulling his hurts into the light and acknowledging them with humor and affection…somehow she took some of the sting away temporarily. He wondered why she could not allow the same for herself and said so.

She went quiet, fiddling with her fingertips over the crumbs on her bread plate. Picking up a few and crushing them, watching as they fell back to the dish, decimated. She wasn't hiding…he could tell she was considering his words.

"I made a mistake. A terrible, terribly life-altering one I can't take back or repair. And the worst part is…I came out the best of it, if this…" one hand sweeping loosely next to herself "…is what anyone with half a brain could consider 'best'. I just can't say more than that, all right? I'm sorry…I know my little human foibles may seem so….insignificant – and I STILL can't wholly believe I'm using those words in a serious conversation much less trying to get a true grip on who with – but try to look at it as a question of ratios rather than cumulative size, okay? It's shattering to me. You're still 'you' under and after all. Bigger, badder and more buoyant than I could ever hope to be…I couldn't even keep 'that me' and survive. I can still barely do it now most days."

Canaan's eyes were downcast, looking somewhere far beyond the surface of the table between them, fingertips blanched white where they pressed next to her bowl. Working to ground herself in this reality, not the one of the past in her head. Her voice was quiet but not shaky; she'd distanced herself from the emotion of last night. He suspected distancing was her sharpest tool and he was right. He was the opposite – incapable of much control; for him everything was always so close which is why his affect could be so labile. He was caught in a horrifying mirror attraction in a miserable funhouse where any tiny turn spinning him gave a different image of disturbance. Unlike him she'd literally gone to ground, burying herself in distance to keep from feeling anything at all. Having to resurface and even then, might still be lost in her new landscape.

"What a pair we make." He shook his head, wryly.

"'Pair', huh? Didn't think that was your modus operandi." She was mocking him slightly, and even though the humor was dark, it was far better than her silence.

"True. It wasn't." He lifted his eyebrows briefly as he took their soup bowls away. Eyeing the wine rack next to his counter, "Want to switch liquids, then?"

"Sounds lovely." She was still taking in what he had just said, trying to hide the stupid-kid-with-a-brand-new-toy smile on her face. Feelings. What a general pain-in-the-fucking-ass, but just sometimes…wow…

He watched her as he uncorked the bottle, smiling a little to himself, pleased with her reaction at his minor confession. "All right, you little nutter. Make yourself useful and throw some more logs on, yeah? Be right there, darling."

Wineglasses in one hand and bottle in the other, Lucifer wasn't sure to be amused or annoyed by what he saw on his walk over to the fireplace. Canaan was sitting on a fat pillow, and completely curled around her was Cearrebus. The dog deliberately shut his eyes as his master walked up, refusing to open them even with the sock foot tapping next to his huge jaw.

"Oi! What's this now, you great oaf? Whose guest do you think she is?" He finally nudged hard enough to get the animal to move, albeit reluctantly and with a low whine. Cearrebus turned to curl himself the other way, nose beside Canaan's outstretched right leg and allowed the two to lean back on his side.

"Honestly. If I had to find a training program for him I'm sure that might be a right challenge. Thought I did a better job on you, mate." Mollified glare at his creature as one blue eye opened at his tone, then closed again.

"What do you mean? And where's he been the whole time I've known you - here? You'd never mentioned him." Canaan's question was to Lucifer, but her attention was on the dog's fur, rubbing behind his ears as they talked.

Lucifer nearly snorted into his wineglass. "Please. Could you imagine me with something the size of him in town? And to the other…no, he hasn't been here. As in 'here'. And I made him…him and one other….after."

"There's another one of these?!"

"No. You've already met her, actually. My guardians and protectors. One always near me, one…elsewhere." He watched Canaan closely. Talking through general information as they had this afternoon, this was far more personal…and might be far harder for her to accept completely, although he appreciated the effort she was making.

"…Mazikeen." Her eyes were thoughtful, staring ahead of her into the roaring fire.

"Yes."

They were quiet for a few minutes.

Canaan broke out of her reverie first, looking down at the animal she'd been petting. "Well. I think we get along a little better. I find him much more pleasant." Smiling as the huge animal yawned a mouthful of wickedly sharp teeth and resettled his head over her legs.

Lucifer voiced what had been puzzling him. "It's rather surprising, actually. Their functions are the same, yet I made them differently. Maze, as you've seen, is quite an individual. Free will, personality – sometimes too much…" Lucifer shook his head, "…this one," reaching beside him to give the huge haunch a series of pats, "…this one now; he's all business. Usually."

"Hate to be on the wrong end of that mouth. Although your…"

"Demon."

Canaan shook her head slightly. "…still so weird…Fine, your demon has quite a trap on her as well. I find it hard to believe you'd need them, but I can see that they'd be good guardians, though. She is…downright vicious in her wariness for you."

Lucifer swallowed the wine in his mouth so hard he nearly burned his throat. Incredulous, he asked, "She tried to hurt you…how can you defend her?"

"But she wasn't. She doesn't know me personally, so therefore can't really hurt me either. I thought of her as any freak show I might run into professionally…although now with a little more…caution. It was the information she was giving and how I felt about that I found difficult. It wasn't who I am that she was reacting to, it was what I am."

The Gordian knot tied in his eyebrows means he's confused.

Canaan took a sip and slanted her hand between them. "Someone she clearly considers unworthy of taking your time and attention, and I didn't get the impression it was a jealousy thing….it was her perception of your reaction to deliberately spending time and attention on someone. She was frightened for you, Lucifer…and it certainly doesn't seem like she'd be frightened often. And the anger she was offering because of that means she felt quite strongly about what she was doing…why do you think that was? Did you ask her?"

He went quiet. No, he hadn't. And hadn't let her say, either. Neither she nor his brother and they'd both tried. Just sent her away as the punishment for the long contention cumulating in such willful disobedience. Just as he had been, he supposed. A mistake he'd sworn he would not repeat on others. Blast. And he'd kept himself aloof since from them both.

"No."

Again, a few minutes of quiet went by before Canaan asked her first question again.

He sighed. "She doesn't want me to become attached. It hasn't gone well before, and besides, I don't belong here…and I can't leave. Yet. I don't know why." Another long, painful sigh as he swirled the dregs of ruby fluid before the fire, watching as the flickering light turned it all the molten colors most associated with Hell. He drained his glass and refilled it. Deeper red now, the light didn't come through so easily.

"You wanted to come here in the first place? Why?"

"A whim, actually. I'd already been here – no, not seducing hippie women with fruit; we've discussed this. My youngest brother was trying to…oh, forget it. Quite a long story that, and not mine to tell. The endgame was I simply needed to escape. Hell was…destroying me. What's left of me, that is." He'd already told her this months ago, although she'd been asleep when he had. It felt better now to be heard.

"You know in a strange way, believe it as you wish, I do understand that. The 'escape' part."

"I know. It's why I can say it."

The silence here was longer; both of them thinking.

Lucifer leaned forward, arms over his bent knees. When he did, the back of the soft collar of his black thermal shirt gapped, contrasting with the sickly hoary beginnings of the livid scarring on his lower neck. Canaan carefully brought a hand up, brushing her fingertips through his hair and then just grazing next to them. By the way he'd reacted when she'd touched before, she would not again unless given permission.

"What are these from?"

Quiet.

But just as he had sensed her thinking about her answer to his questions at the dinner table, here she knew he was contemplating what to say.

"Those vile distortions of the perfection I was created with are all that's left of my wings."

For a long, long time after his quiet words they sat in silence. Canaan kept her hand on his shoulder, gently petting him, and he had his right hand on her leg, stroking Cearrebus' nose where the animal was laying on her.

Appreciating that he might not want to talk about what was clearly so painful, she still wanted him to feel she was interested, and not fearful so…

"So the feathered appendages splattered all over centuries' worth of art…just a big, fat 'no', huh?"

Lucifer was quiet a moment more, then chuckled a little. The gentle humor was refreshing. A little light in his darkness, and he'd cracked enough for it to shine in.

"Not exactly, darling. You humans…you do just tend to understand things as you can." Suddenly he perked up a bit, turning to her. Whatever he was going to say, she was already glad he was happier.

"But you…now you might understand after all…"

She raised both eyebrows in a 'don't get your hopes up I'm pretty close to overloaded already' expression.

"No no no! This is what you do! You'll get it."

Well, he seemed pretty convinced. Canaan set herself to listen.

"Most important part of a human body – what is it?"

"Depends upon whom you ask." She cast a risqué glance at his lap, cocking an eyebrow and grinning.

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a smirk. Wonderful. At times, usually inopportune ones, she could be as filthy-minded as he. It was terrific. "Be serious…just for a few more minutes, yeah?"

"Oh all right…spoilsport." He was happier and she was glad of it. "Brain. Spinal cord."

"Yes, good girl. Why?"

"Well, depending upon how you want to look at it, what goes on inside our heads controls what we think and are and do. 'Seat of the mind' blah blah blah. Neurotransmitters, etcetera. And in order to 'do' anything, that chemical communication needs to result in action – transmission of chemical and electrical impulses. Spinal cord takes all that from our brains peripherally and innervates the body's autonomic and somatic systems giving us our ability to accept input to sense, experience and physically move…but wait, you know this…so why are you asking me?"

He was thrilled. She had no idea why.

Lucifer let the words fall away from him in a rush. She could maybe understand this! Understand this part of him, as the others had not. Her job, her books and art…even her pain might let her...oh please…for once...

"That's what our wings are for, except on a tremendously complex level. Not just taking in information from ourselves…but from everything around us, being able to control the energetic fluxes we encounter – and everything is energy, you know that right? You must, I saw your books! And Canaan…for incredible – I mean truly incredible multidimensional distances we do this. In space, in time, with one another, connected….oh, right - it's likely way beyond your comprehension, no offense..." he hedged.

She waved a 'keep talking' hand at him. "None taken, good so far in concept…go on. I'll let you know…"

"Without them, yes, I'm still 'me' as you stated earlier…but yet not. I'm more like you all here…for the most part trapped inside my own head and cut off from everything, everyone I was always so in tune with." Literally. He'd wielded the music of creation's entirety. "Parts of myself, my mind, my memories I can only access with my wings. Gone. Yes, I still have power and capabilities and talents, vast compared to what you'd understand but truly…I'm crippled. More than. I'm less without them. Diminished. And these leftover scars knotting me where they'd furl in this human form let everything…everything else flood in these open wounds unabated all the time…with no respite, ever. God knows it's killing me though I can never die, driving me insane with this punishment that won't end ….and yet he doesn't care…not enough to stop it…"

He'd gone from ecstatic to distraught in seconds.

"I've learned to hold that influx at bay – mostly – but if they're intentionally touched ('by someone powerful, whether they know it or not', he thought quickly) well then, it's like part of what's left of my mind just…falls open and empties."

Ragged breath.

"And I can't remember why they're gone. Or when…only that it was after I fell so I can't even remember exactly why that happened either. It's so distorted - that time frame, as everything before…and my father won't tell me…won't speak with me."

More ragged breaths.

"I found myself in Hell, changed. Responsible for managing the pain of others as my own continued unabated…I'd become an orchestrator of torture, not music. Can you even imagine? So discordantly alone, so bereft of everything I cared for…barely remembering how to even do that…and why? For what? I needed someone, something to help…so Mazikeen and Cearrebus have been with me since."

All this was confusing. And clearly horrendous for him so she did not wish to press too hard, but one aspect in particular was confounding.

"Lucifer…for someone as…physically expressive as you've been here…how could you tolerate it? Other people must have touched your scars on purpose – how could they not?"

"I can hide them."

More quiet.

Finally a cautious voice. A human voice.

"But you never did with me."

"No…I didn't. You were my friend. You showed me your own. I understand ratios, Canaan. You showed me trust even when it was clearly difficult - how could I respond otherwise?"

Sliding away from under Cearrebus, she twisted to slip behind him as she had on the snowmobile, as he had on the piano bench. Strong arms and legs wrapped around his body. Resting her cheek on his back and just feeling him breathe.

After a little while…

"Some evil devil. Clearly some mixed messages, hmm?"

Canaan heard a softer voice of his, but a relieved one. "I've always hoped so."

[ - ]

They stayed that way for a bit, Lucifer watching the fire die down and Canaan behind him still holding on. Needing the stabilizing normalcy of his breathing and warmth to help settle everything he'd said and wanting to be a quiet comfort as well. After a time he asked her 'how does a bath sound' and laughing at her reply of 'well the shower this morning was quite nice so…' he rose, pulling her to her feet to go downstairs for her clothes. Watching her shuck out of her long underwear in the soft colorful light of the stained glass lamps was possibly the most arousing thing he'd seen since….well, since waking up next to her this morning. Quickly ripping his own off he grabbed her, tossing them both down on the soft bed. She winced a little as he settled beside her, running a hand over her hip and lower belly. To the troubled flicker of his eyebrows she offered a sheepish reply, mumbling a little in embarrassment, "Sorry, just a bit of enthusiastic mileage there recently."

"Hmm, little valley's been well furrowed, that's for certain." Knowing look and glint. "Lucky for me the rest of the landscape is gorgeous, too."

Canaan rolled her eyes a little, grinning. She turned her head to kiss him, but he brushed his hand over her eyes, tilting her head away as he bent over her neck. Gentle shivery kisses cascaded from her ear to her collarbone and over to her shoulder, triangulation repeated with warmly pliant tongue and open mouth. She could feel his smile against her skin as the hum of her pleasure tickled his lips on her throat.

"Lovely...that sound just sends me, darling."

"Mmm. I can tell." The smile lines at the corners of her mouth deepened as her hip pressed against the thickening heat beside her. She reached down to touch that pulse, only to feel him bring her hand up to where her other lay above her head on the pillow. Holding her wrists gently. His other fingers still loosely cupped over her eyes. Lucifer felt her tense, slight though it was.

"Trust me, Canaan. Will you?"

A brief silence, then a soft 'yes' made his smile she couldn't see shine brighter. He stretched her arms further above her head, giving her wrists a reassuring press before releasing them. He'd only wanted her to be still, to show faith in his care…the demons she'd yet to speak of were better left in silence: not antagonized. He kept the loose hand over her eyes, using his thumb to tilt her jaw up as he sank his mouth into her neck, strumming the strong pulses there with his tongue. Sliding lower, exploring the notch below her throat and grazing teeth and light kisses over her the sweeps of her collarbones. He smiled to himself, enjoying the soft sounds she made. With her eyes closed and covered, he took her in unobserved.

Her scars. Ripping across her body the same way the silence she'd kept about them did: clearly profound, yet such a part of her that words perhaps could not give justice. To his credit he'd not yet followed his usual impulsive inclinations and pursued too much insistence for her disclosure.

His view. Rather than detracting, it seemed the scaffold from which 'Canaan' had risen. Unaware of what had come before, it was this identity she'd chosen for herself in which he found such thrall in. Feeling intensely for perfection as he did, the fact that she was not should have surprised him…yet it was the core of him, the sustenance of what he remembered about himself that had such affinity for the soul beyond the injured edges of her. This was, after all why they'd been able to meet in the first place, and why he hoped she might understand more…

After that first time together she'd not mentioned them at all, nor acted in any way to hide…though he suspected this was not from confidence, but literally needing not to see any reminder of whatever had happened. At least his own were on his back…and the others in his mind he usually hid well also. He didn't feel hers diminished her beauty in any way, though he doubted she'd believe him. Strength through pain was what he was…and as that could appreciate it more in others.

Lucifer felt her tense…he must have paused. He chided himself. This now was time for some fun rather than heady introspection. More than enough of that for one day by far in his estimation.

He stretched a long leg over hers, pressing himself against her hip. His clearly intense interest relaxed one form of tension in her body, only to pick up another, more entertaining one. He smiled, running his free hand over her gracefully muscled torso, feeling her arch up against his fingers. Mmm…'that response certainly deserves a reward' was his languorous thought.

He brought his open mouth down to her near breast, long fingers stroking circles over the other. When her mouth opened in a hungry sigh, he grazed his thumb over her lower lip, pleasantly surprised to feel her draw it in and nibble.

'One good turn, then darling,' was his next thought as he lavished the same attention on the tight nipple under his tongue, rolling the other gently between his fingers. Realizing he was following her, Canaan sucked the pad of his thumb a little harder, running slow circles with her tongue and giving the occasional small bite.

Oh, that was nice…

What she said was nicer. "Imagine I'm doing this somewhere else…" The soft promise of her voice and memory of recent fun in the kitchen gave him a hard jolt. She had to feel that…oh...he certainly had: ricocheting around his pelvis and right to every single extension of his body. One in particular.

"I suppose you are imagining, aren't you?" Little smile in these words before she sucked more of his thumb in, listening for his chuckle. He didn't disappoint. Lucifer felt the other creamy breast with rose tip looked a little lonely under just his hand, so decided to pay that one some personalized attention as well. The fact that he had to press harder into her to reach was just an added bonus. She cocked her hip and rolled it against him, just enough - more than a tease but still not urgent.

Yes, this was very nice indeed.

A little too, maybe…now he needed that mouth on his.

Shifting his body over hers, he settled in for some seriously focused kissing. Lucifer kept her legs closed tightly with his own and feeling the turgid heat pressing on her thighs and thick tip barely brushing against her own sensitive knot of nerves gave her the control she was relinquishing elsewhere. He kept still for her here as she did for him above, feeling her move under him, slow ellipses that brought the most delicately responsive features of them both together, glossed in glances of shared liquid friction. Her mouth opened in a sigh and he took it as welcome.

These kisses…she'd never felt anything such as his…

Soft resilient mouth, fiery tongue curving against the inside of her lips asking for further invitation. She caught the tip of it gently in her teeth, sucking at him as she pressed his other tip between lower lips: wonderfully symmetrical sensory redaction.

Oh, almost too much want. Needing more he opened his mouth and a little stronger now, drew her tongue in, curling around hers, pulling moans from her. Yes, more of that. Stroking licks on the underside as she bathed the roof of his mouth with her own. As she circled a little faster below he reversed; thrusting his tongue deeply, strong but not forceful, giving her the long, slow twisting strokes he could not elsewhere.

Canaan realized he was fucking her mouth with his tongue; the rhythmic, hungrily pliant plunder making her head spin and body torch. She could only open her mouth wider to him, wanting, the small ellipses her hips were tracing against him quickening, cadence stuttering.

Her sharp break was sudden: it was the feel of him against her there, so close, so full, so, so still…letting her use him as she needed. He opened his eyes to see her hands splayed against the headboard, fingers curling as she gasped…and then she finally felt him move, pressing his hips to slide against her, slowly at first to bathe himself in the rush of wet heat he'd felt. From engorged tip down distended length he stroked over the small taut swell as she lifted her hips, and him nearly off the bed. Canaan closed her jaws slightly to suck on his tongue, rippling hers down the length as she pulled, little nips at the tip, then circling around she enclosed him again. She could hear the groan starting in his chest and feel it in her mouth briefly before he broke away to bury his face in her neck. She so wanted to run her hands over the long, muscled torque of his back but he'd asked for her restraint. If she couldn't use her hands…well, then…she turned to press her lips to his ear, skimming her tongue over the delicate curls of the shell, feeling him bucking his hips harder as she exhaled gently over the wet trails she'd left.

Mouth to his ear, she spoke rough words to him in a gentle tone, holding herself still for him now as his pace became erratic. Asking for him to come, telling him how good he'd made her feel, how wet she still was as he moved against her….with his cry strangled in the hollow of her collarbone she felt a series of hot spills over her belly as his body seized. She slipped one hand down quickly between them, sliding her fingers over him in soft, clasping cascades, barely grazing the overly-sensitized tip. He arched in surprise, and she took advantage to bring her other hand even lower, her palm cradling the soft pouch as her index finger slid behind, pressing into the smooth skin just beyond. Lucifer froze in suspension above her, breath held in shock. With just a few slower, twisting strokes and slightly deeper presses she felt his whole body become an echo of the slippery rigidity in her hand.

"Yes…ah…yes, more, harder…Canaan, yeah…like that, right there…oh…OH…"

Their reward was another blinding orgasm for Lucifer, who after a brief refractory gasp, was not to be outdone. Making sure Canaan followed him again quickly with the help of some very instrumental fingers playing on one particular small key.

He collapsed against her, squashing her slightly on purpose as he tickled, loving the squeal and sticky wriggle he felt underneath him.

"And what was that, you naughty, naughty little wench?"

Still giggling, somewhat muffled under his chest, "I've been listening more closely to Dale's exploits aaaaaannnnnnnddd I might've picked up a little light reading from some websites he'd mentioned. Your predilections are a little more expansive than mine, so…"

He was bemusedly charmed.

"A 'little light reading', hey? Well, 'show and tell' time, then! I want more….I do so enjoy a good bedtime story. I'll bet they all have happy endings…tell them to me in the bath so I can clean you up, dirty girl…"

More shared laughter, a few more wet, soapy 'stories', then warm cuddles afore of good sleep for him and sweet dreams for her were the precursors of the next day's nightmare.


	33. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pardon the French, but it all turns to sh!t. Major character whump. It's been foreshadowed for awhile so if you've been paying attention you've been warned. Self-harm trigger, graphic physical violence.

[ - ]

She'd woken early again; long habit. The black of night barely lifted even with the lightness of the snow cover. Despite what she'd said last night, she was reluctant to wake the sleeper beside her. She looked on him and smiled, the beautiful blend of fair and dark, this gorgeous form a tumble of long limbs and harbored strength surrounding her. He looked ethereal in the faint gloom…he was, after all. She'd slept well with him…still such a strangely trusting experience to share with another after so long. However, it had been a very, very…um, interesting…time recently spent, and she needed space alone to collect herself, if only for a little while. She felt pulled. Slipping away gently, pausing only for a moment as he reached out for her in his sleep. Leaning to kiss his fingertips as they lay over the covers she'd been resting under. Gathering clothes silently from the bench. Cearrebus was awake in the hall (of course) and watching her. She patted him in silent greeting, ruffling his fur. They both padded upstairs, the animal close to her side as she put coffee on to brew, scaled a few countertops to find mugs and a container to surprise her sleeping companion when he woke. Drinking the hot liquid quickly, decanting the rest, dressing, then leaving the silence (safety!) of the house the first glow of real sun met them as they broke through the trees up on the ridge.

Cearrebus was uncharacteristically solemn; she couldn't tell if it was the earliness of the hour or the fact that his master was not present. He stood beside her as she sat on the apex of the ridge, facing east watching the myriad colors of the rising sun spreading over the sky, turning darkness to light. After yesterday she could almost hear the music in the daily miracle. Curious to see if the light of the new day had reached the far mountain peaks she rose to stand and turned to face west. Without the sun on her face the additional chill was sudden…deep to her bones. More so than she would have expected. She heard a low growl and looked over at the furred beast beside her. His head was up, ears alert, hackles raised. Nose rising to the sky, sweeping to each side, lowering to the ground. Growling louder. Tracking. Despite the rising sun behind her it was still quite dim here. She was disturbed by the animal's behavior and wanted them to go back. The trail down was still in darkness on the western edge and she was careful of her footing as she approached the head of the rockfall. Precarious here, but the view was fascinating. All in shadow, some areas just lighter than others. She paused…so briefly…vaguely aware of the tension of the animal behind her…but entranced by the darkness. It looked different somehow. Looking down at her feet to make sure she was safe where she stood she heard Cearrebus' growl turning to snarl. The shadows grew from the west…wait, how was that possible with the rising sun at her back? A thin sliver of caustic black touched her boot. She shivered, infinite ice shot deep to her marrow.

"You don't deserve this….not after all you've done…" What? She heard the voice like a whisper in her mind, as when a sudden idea pops into one's head unexpectedly. The voice was soft, certain...becoming a steel hook barbing into soft flesh. A sick, revoltingly familiar voice from years ago. Peculiar words in her own voice…tearing at the weakness within her.

"Who are you to feel happiness?" She had been letting herself feel that way. More easily and more often lately.

"How quickly you forget….how quickly you forget…how quickly you forget…" As if she ever could. She was just learning to maybe have something else as well, something beautiful grown from the salted fallow ground of despair.

"You don't deserve this. Any of this. Him? Hah. Slut. WHORE. Think you're different? Laughable. He's had those before. Many…and many more to come." Yes but…

"Think you're special? Think you could matter…to anyone…? How could you…what you are – a LIAR. What slaughter you've accomplished – terrible…awful. Unforgiveable. What you're doing…trying to forget – far, far worse." Nothing truly mattered, as she really didn't – did she? She'd worked so hard to be invisible. And done it so well until recently. But even as a shadow Canaan only wanted to do and be something useful…to help, to atone for…

"So stupid. As if you could take it back. SO stupid. Hateful. Always so selfish."

Lost inside her head, Canaan was dimly aware of Cearrebus raging behind her. She'd been slowly edging forward following the dark lure (coming from the wrong direction/wake up!). The voice was stronger now.

"Worthless. Wasteful. Murderer…" The armor she'd been working to dismantle was now too weak to protect her against this insidious onslaught, and she wasn't strong enough on her own to resist it. She found herself right on the edge of the scree, looking down. The voice became softer, more cloying.

"So easy…so easy…let go…no more worry…no more guilt…no more opportunity to cause more painful harm...as you surely will…as you certainly have…" Small rocks crumbling under her feet. Falling away. Some otherworldly lamentation, but as if from an incredible distance.

"This is what you deserve. Useless. Squanderer. Killer." Pulling her. That siren pull she always felt, so difficult to resist…

"You know you want to…" Oh she did. She did want to. She suddenly realized how very tired she'd become of fighting the unchangeable past, tired of trying to merely survive under an incredible burden. More tired from trying to grow out from beneath it and not collapse in the process. So very, very tired. But this phrase was his…a little spark lit her. Too little to fight the inky miasma hemorrhaging in her head.

"Stupid. Worthless…you mean nothing real to no one. As if you could, after what you've done…if only everyone knew what you've done…" There it was; the impossible singularity she thought from which she could never escape.

Turned out to be so easy, as the voice had said. She just let her knees buckle underneath her, the heavy fog in her mind and the weight of pain in her chest pulling her down.

Freedom in the rush of cold wind around her. Too brief.

Juddering pain as her right side smashed into a protruding rock. "THIS is what you deserve…this…more of this."

Yes. This. And more is what she deserved. The last quiet part of her mind that was wholly hers accepted the inevitable, strangely feeling at peace through the pain. The clarity of pain bringing the peace. She welcomed more.

Screaming. Hers? No. Pain was a strong and simple teacher. She smiled through the streaming blood; a willing student.

Scent of char.

Impact. Less jarring than she'd anticipated. Then nothing at all. And that was everything she'd forgotten she had wanted for so long.


	34. Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the things we hide, intentionally or otherwise, spin us on stronger currents than what we show superficially. Trigger warning for more descriptions of graphic violence. (oh, and just for fun, the new OC looks a bit like Tom Hiddleston to me...not like 'Loki', but in appearance and affect as his role in 'The Night Manager')

[ - ]

She became aware of the unmistakably familiar scent of hospital: strong emotion and disinfectant. Electronic yelps of pumps and monitors. Chemically-muffled pain haze and general stiffness. Dim lighting...feeling something near? Someone? Fuzzily remembered danger…strange, threatening dreams. Must be dreams, right? Blinking her heavy eyelids Canaan tried to rally and assess herself. Her right leg felt heavy…blinking faster to clear her vision against the dull headache. Well yes, the thigh-to-toe brace would explain that heaviness. With her foot slung up she saw capped pins in several of her exposed toes. Ugh; she hated Kwires. Heavily padded fiberglass splinting wrapped in Coban on her right forearm, wrist and hand. Well, better than her dominant left side. That seemed okay. She flexed her shoulders and back gingerly. A lot of uncomfortable stiffness, but nothing dire. Seen worse, certainly. Had worse, personally. Suffering from a disturbingly foul case of dry, unbrushed teeth she started to pat the sheets weakly looking for the call bell. Nope, not within reach on the left…no one would be stupid enough to put it on her mangled side, now would they? She shifted her head to the right to look. Caught a silhouette backlit by the dim glow through the glass (morning or evening?) Ah, there was someone here. A familiar someone.

Lucifer was slumped back in one of the incredibly uncomfortable hospital chairs by the window. One knee bent, foot firmly on the ground, the other long leg balancing on his heel. He was shifted slightly to the side with an elbow bent on the unpadded armrest and hand covering his forehead and eyes. A collection of disposable coffee cups lined the windowsill. She couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not, but that posture meant he'd been in the same position for a while. If he stayed that way for too long he was going to be even more uncomfortable than she was, not to mention the peptic ulcer he'd likely have from the rotgut swill spewed from the cafeteria's coffee urns. She coughed softly, not wanting to startle him if he was asleep. Instantly his hand fell away as he turned his head to look over at her. His face was striking, but not because of its usual attractive play of expressions. He was indrawn and pale, with shadows settled over his face and under his glassy eyes. Dark, vacantly devoid hollows…he just stared in her direction. She tried to speak and it came out a croak. Shaking her head (ouch!) and clearing her throat she tried again, watching him push out of the chair, worry the first actual mien she'd seen. She flipped her functional hand at him: 'all good'.

"I'm fine." Wow, raspy. Like d/c'd ET tube raspy. Hmm. She couldn't wait to see her chart. Coughing again as he dragged the chair closer. Trying once more in a hoarse whisper. "What's today?"

"Tuesday. It's Tuesday evening." He looked more dire than she felt, and sounded nearly as rough. And some of the shadows on his face didn't appear to move….bruises? What? And worst of all the look on his face; still stricken.

"Tuesday. As in it was Sunday two days ago? Sunday at your house?"

"Yes."

"Sunday." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Absolutely unforgiveable."

"I know, I'm sorry, I should have woke, should have never let you alone…" His persecuted look was more painful to her than the injuries. She spoke over him.

"No, shut up…" coughing with the effort, and flicking her fingers in dismissal at the expression in his eyes. "…I got here on a Sunday? A Sunday. Have I not told you I hate the orthopod on weekend trauma? And clearly…" indicating her leg and arm "… from these calling cards that asshole has indeed seen me naked. For fuck's sake, Lucifer. You should've stuffed me in the trunk – er, "boot" -until Monday morning." Baleful glare with only the merest hint of sarcastic tease in the lift of her left eyebrow. Waiting for him to catch on. Waiting for his tense mask to crack.

He did, albeit slowly. Slowly his eyes relaxed so the scleral whites weren't showing above his irises, slowly his jaw unclenched and very, very slowly, he let out the breath he'd been holding before he'd heard her banter; dry wit through the dry throat. This sounded like her... She began to smile just a bit and although he was glad to see it, the rest of the circumstances worsened for him. The smile faded.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop whatever you're thinking that's making you look like that. I mean it." Here she wasn't kidding. "I am, or will be fine, I'm sure. Continued assessments by jerkwad ortho doc notwithstanding. It's just casting; I've had worse. Both of us have." She leveled a meaningful stare at him. "You however, do not look fine. Are you all right?" She reached up to brush the back of her hand against what appeared to be discoloration at his near temple and cheekbone: confused as he flinched away from her touch. Confused in general.

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"It's a little fuzzy, truthfully." Indicating the pumps on the IV pole. "This giggle juice probably has a fair amount to do with it. Hate this stuff. Mind-wiping." She noticed he hadn't said anything. "Lucifer?"

He set his jaw, unsure of where to start. If to start at all. Just at that moment, one of the floor staff sashayed in, eyes lighting up to see hers open. Canaan enjoyed the older man; he was an excellent nurse; although a bit tutu'd bull in a china shop personality-wise for her choice in direct care. 'Like Mary Poppins and Mel Brooks had a prancy ADD toddler that embraced cliché.' she thought.

"Ohhhhhhh hiiiiiiiiii! You're awake!"

"Hi Steve. Excellent assessment skills per norm." Smiling at him and noticing Lucifer pull away further.

"And how are we feeling? Poor baby…" he 'tsked' at her, checking the circulation on the toes and fingers protruding from her casts before hanging a new IV bag.

"Can it with the fluffy Press-Ganey patient crap." she joked. "'We' have a Code Red case of fetid cottonmouth…and do NOT give me those stupid green swabs. I want a toothbrush with Brillo bristles and the biggest, coldest glass of ice water you can find. With a lemon that's less than three weeks old if one exists here."

"I'll have to see what your p.o. orders are…" Interrupting him: "Yeah, speaking of orders, d/c all this shit…" waving at the pain med piggybacks, "…I feel like I'm in a mental fogbank. And thank Dr. Bonehead for all the fine work I'm sure he did…but get me on the service of ANYone else, even one of the residents that's not too stupid, okay?"

Steve laughed at her 'degree of expressiveness' under the influence of opiates and the G-rated version of the orthpod's nickname bequeathed by staff. And her demeanor in general. The usually reserved practitioner was quite entertaining in this state. "Well, 10/10 on neurocheck for you, missy. You seem rather more over less like yourself, bump on head and all." Canaan reached her hand up in a quick foray of light pats and discovered a bandage over her right temple; she hadn't even noticed. Yep, pain meds had to go. Discomfort was an easy exchange for clarity.

"Oh, and congratulations! Mr. Morningstar here let the cat out of the bag." What? About what was she being congratulated for exactly? "Apparently all this mess went down when you two were discussing your proposal for improvements for the Ped Trauma unit? Veerrrrry exciting!" She relaxed; this actually was her pet project she'd been working on although at the moment she could not remember having told Lucifer about it. For a nervous hiccup of time she'd thought more personal information had slipped. She cut her eyes over at the haggard-looking man on her other side. His expression was closed-off completely. He spoke formally to her as he rose. "Well then. Ms. Raene, it certainly appears as if you're in capable hands. I think I'll take my leave now. Hope you're feeling better soon….perhaps I'll drop by again."

Following his lead. "Clearly I'll be right here for a little while. I appreciate the visit, sorry I wasn't a better conversationalist. Thank you. Take care." Wanting to say more, but awareness of drugs on board and her nurse's presence muzzled her. After Lucifer left, she and Steve chatted as she weaseled her chart off him and he performed some minor patient housekeeping maneuvers. She chided him when she realized her call bell was on the side table – totally inaccessible.

"What the actual hell, Stevie? How was I supposed to reach that?"

"Well, you didn't get extubated until yesterday afternoon. And you had help available if you needed it."

"Yes, right – who else was on the last couple of days besides you? Not Lois was it…" squirming at the thought of being unconscious under the care of the burned-out nurse everyone called 'Grumplestiltskin'.

"Heavens no, girlie. Goodness, you'd still be sucking the first IV bag dry." Steve laughed, then became slightly more serious. "No, I meant you'd never have needed it." Indicating the line of coffee cups on the windowsill. "He's been here the whole time; from the OR waiting room, to PACU until we transferred you up here. I'm surprised he wasn't on the 'bird with you. The gentleman is very persuasive, in his way."

"Mmmhmm." It was a very accurate statement. "Okay…well he's gone now, so could I please have the bell on the left? Sometime today?"

"Of course, sassy. Doesn't take you long to get your 'boss' back. Now rest. Nurse's orders."

"Sir, yes sir." Giving her colorful colleague a mock salute, Canaan closed her eyes and relaxed back on the fresh linens. Mulling over the niggle of doubt in her mind…

The Devil nearly ran out of the building. It was the longest he'd ever stayed in a stretch and he felt claustrophobic. So like Hell in some ways: confining walls of pain, misery, grief, suffering…and nothing any of those humans could do would stem the inevitable tide coming to roll them under anyway. The tenacity of people had piqued his interest in the past but in his current mindset he just felt irritated that they would not accept the certainty of their finite nature. He rubbed his hands over his face, an exasperated breath escaping him. Thinking of how the difficulty for him to accept 'his nature' had resulted in tremendous rebellion. Perhaps the different creations of God were more alike than not. Fine, yes, unlike his old domain some good things happened here, sure, but they seemed so few and far between. Especially now. Like life all over this plane. Exhausted, he collapsed into his truck and turned the key in the ignition but then was waylaid by indecision. He didn't want to stay at his office, but couldn't bear to go back to the mountain house. Lucifer decided to make the longer trip up the coast, wiped as he was. He needed to escape, feeling sick and tired. Sick in both heart and mind, and bodily tired of struggling (like her…). Canaan sounded like herself, but after what he'd seen that awful Sunday morning…what he knew of her truth…

Lucifer had woken to an empty bed, quiet house and the scent of fresh coffee. The early sunlight sent the first tentative glow through the sliding doors, warming the arm he'd flung over the duvet. He yawned and stretched out with catlike sinuousness. He'd again slept well with her, briefly waking a time or two during the night and enjoying the feel of her body soft with sleep, warm and entwined with his. Remembering halfway coming to when she'd left the bed before dawn, certain she'd be right back. He ran his hand over the space next to him as he had then; it was cool. She'd been gone awhile. He was trying to decide if he should be mildly annoyed Canaan hadn't fully woken him as she'd promised, but he felt too good to be put out. A little smile played over the corners of his mouth and he closed his eyes again, thinking of her. Them together here. His smile grew as other things do and the tip of his tongue licked at one corner. Mmmm. Maybe he would go find her and do better than simply fantasize. Today she could make breakfast…after he'd whetted his appetite.

With that fun thought in mind he stretched again, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed his robe off the foot of the bed. Tying the belt he walked out in the hallway and listened, but heard nothing. Not even Cearrebus came to greet him. Odd. He walked up the first flight of stairs, half expecting to see her reading with his traitorous animal lolling at her feet. No one. Something on the kitchen counter, though. A cup, a small carafe of coffee and a note. Sniggering at the absurd mental image of Canaan standing in the sink to reach the dish cabinet overhead he read what she'd left. She'd not wanted to disturb him when she woke early, decided to '…take a walk and your beast on a research trip: back soon...' Ah, she had been fascinated with the play of morning sunlight yesterday, and the view from the ridge behind the house. Probably went there to see both at once. He poured a mug and stoked a fire so it would be warm when she returned, entertained by thoughts of play on the hearth cushions. Taking his coffee upstairs to dress (and hoping she'd not let him stay that way for long!) he unfastened one of the two locked doors in his bedroom and passed through the jammed corridor to a small glassed room at the end. This was the only view east on this level. He stood close to the glass, sipping from the cup and waking up fully. His sharp eyes swept the ascension of trees, still in deep shadow on this side, then the bluff with the disembowelment of boulders and scree carving the huge rockfall under a section of steep cliff. Shaped as a cresting wave and so thin at the top, that. Quite precarious. Not seeing them he looked down the treeline on the other side where the trail entered the woods. Nothing. He was starting to think he'd been mistaken about her destination when movement caught his eye at the top. Cearrebus, frisking in the snow, and Canaan just in front of him, facing away from the sunrise. Why away? Wait…His eyes narrowed, focusing. Something was off.

Looking more carefully, Lucifer realized the animal wasn't playing - he was struggling. No, full-on teeth-bared fighting! Lucifer just couldn't see against what. He dropped the mug (never hearing the shattering splash) and placed both hands to the glass, looking closer, aghast at what he saw. Thin dark bands grew from the shadows under the tumbled snowy rocks of the slide. They had snared his dog and it looked as if some thicker strands ran to Canaan as well, but she wasn't struggling. If anything her body language was calm, moving ever closer to the jagged edge. Cearrebus' agonized howl of pain and frustration as he tried desperately to break free jolted Lucifer from his shock. Oh, to have his wings now…he clapped his hands together in desperate prayer. Amenadiel appeared instantly, his back to the glass looking at his brother. "It's been a long time, Luci, what…?" Cutting himself off at the panic on Lucifer's face he spun to look out the window at whatever had caused the terror he saw. Something fell from the high ridge, and they both gaped as it ricocheted off a protruding spear of stone. A crimson spray bloomed over the shadowed white snow, blood rain spiraling from the object twisting in the air like a broken doll. Amenadiel's eyes widened – was that a person?! Lucifer erupted in sooted flame, screaming.

"GO! GO NOW!"

Instantly he felt his brother's grasp then Mena's hiss of pain as he burned on Lucifer's fire. The very next second he was thrown to the snowy ground at the bottom of the scree, neck craned up in horror watching as Amenadiel flew to arrest the falling body above him…no…NO…not just a body. Not dead. Not like this…not yet…

Blaze of shock snuffing out as he ran to where they landed, clambering over snow-covered rocks. The crescendo of his brother's beautiful black wings shielding his view as the angel crouched low over the ground. Desperate to see, Lucifer grabbed at him and was thwarted as Amenadiel solidified a razor-tipped edge to keep him at bay. He kept his voice low.

"It's bad, Luci."

"Mena…let me see her." His brother's voice was soft, and this was worse than his screaming as the anguish was bleakly exposed. Amenadiel hesitated.

"Let me!" Amenadiel drew some of his sharp edges back, ready to congeal again in an instant if necessary. The look on Lucifer's face as he saw this ruined human chilled him.

"Heal her, brother. Please." No, the helpless desperation in his voice was worse than the visage, by far. Amenadiel lay hands on the distortion of bloody flesh in front of him. Humans. Imbued with the same magic of creation as they were, but so fragile. Such a price to pay for their differences. He frowned, gliding his fingers over the blood-sodden material of her clothes. Disturbed.

"What are you waiting for? Mena, hurry…please." Lucifer's voice was the near side of shrill, watching the hot scarlet flood soaking out and melting the snow.

"Something's wrong."

"Yes, obviously, terribly so. Just heal her!"

"I can't…I need help…"

"WHAT? What do you mean, 'can't' ?!"

Amenadiel turned his golden eyes on his brother. Arresting his panic with his gaze. "I mean 'I can't'. I need help to do as you ask. Do you understand me?" Waiting one snap of time for recognition to dawn. Two. Then it did.

"I don't care. Anything. AnyONE. Just please…" Amenadiel closed his eyes and bowed his head. More than anything the sound of Lucifer's voice beseeching him was unnerving. His fallen brother was passionate and willful, leading to many challenges between them. But hearing actual desperation was quite rare. As was accepting any help from the one he knew would come now. Unlikely if Lucifer himself asked, but Amenadiel knew any request of his was a different story.

Radiant light. Wash of sweet air. Feeling of strong succor. To anything mortal Raphael would be invisible, but a feeling of comfort and confidence would be inexplicably noticed. For Lucifer and Amenadiel the other archangel was resplendent. A comfort to one and antagonist for the other.

"I need you, Phae. This is…complicated."

"Why are you helping our wayward brother repair one of his broken toys?" The beautiful emerald eyes narrowed in a stark glare at dark ones. Then widening in surprise as those closed in pain. Lucifer collapsed to his knees, long fingers digging in the bloody snow.

"Please. Please, she's not…she's good, Raphael. She does here as you do."

Like Amenadiel, he was surprised to hear his arrogant brother use words and tone like this. Interesting…"Move, Mena. Let me…" The healer laid his hands over the shattered form. "Ah." Meeting Amenadiel's eyes. Understanding passed between golden and green. They both looked at Lucifer, still crumpled down beside them.

"This wasn't an accident." Raphael watched the words freeze his dark brother.

"No, it had to be…NO! Wait – Cearrebus?" Lucifer's eyes flew wide open, frenzied stare darting to Amenadiel, who looked up the cliff face, winked away and returned inside of a heartbeat with the huge animal, laying his trembling body over the snow beside them. Wounded. Bearing ugly welts from his muzzle lacing down to his chest and legs which were already beginning to run with purulent fester. Lucifer's teeth clenched at the sight of his companion. He hissed an indrawn breath, shaking with rage.

Raphael laid a restraining hand on his brother's shoulder. "Stop. The energy of your anger serves no useful purpose for them. Such waste. In all this time haven't you learned that yet?" Turning his head to the dog. "Mena. Can you help him while I…see to this?"

For a time there was silence among the angels. Only the breath of wind and occasional cries of the animal as the filth was purged from his form. Amenadiel worked hard over him. He'd always felt a kindredness of spirit with his oldest brother's creature; created as a guardian and prevention of evil from escaping its final destination. Cearrebus was a warrior as he was, happy and confident in his role. Amenadiel did his best, learning something surprising in the process but was unable to restore him completely; at least the taint of poison was gone from the exhausted animal. Whining softly, he nosed under Lucifer's hand where his master still kneeled between his brothers, his shoulders hunched down and eyes closed against the spoor of aftermath around him.

"Old friend…" Lucifer caressed the massive head, noting the new silver tracks of scars marring the beautiful fur where the fetid wounds had been. "Now we're both marked, aren't we?" The dog cried louder, nostrils flaring at the heavy iron scent of blood in the air. "It's all right. I saw you try. It's all right." Stroking over the rough ears. "I'm so sorry you were hurt…I should have been with you." Looking at Amenadiel, "Thank you, brother, I…" Drained as he was, Amenadiel spoke over him to cover the pain in Lucifer's voice, "You know I've always liked him. It's one thing you did right. Well, maybe two - but she's harder to handle." "Indeed, she is." They gave each other weary grins and exchanged looks of mutual understanding and respect. Three pairs of eyes, golden, blue and brown looked over at Raphael. One green pair looked back, darkened with effort.

"Not so well over here, I'm afraid."

"What?" Lucifer's hoarse whisper was barely audible. Everything had happened so quickly…but when he'd seen Raphael appear the most intense part of his fear had been assuaged somewhat. This brother's role was not only as healer, but he was one of the strongest of the archangels, not far removed from what Lucifer himself had once been. It was the contrast between rend and repair that made their relationship one of the most strained, and the reason Amenadiel warned Lucifer whom he was going to ask for help.

"This is not just injury, Lucifer. It's why."

"What are you saying…you saw whatever that…whatever happened to them did to Cearrebus? She's just as him, but worse. Because she's human, of course. Why can't you…" Stumbling over his words, he tried to explain to his brothers what malignancy he'd seen borne from the shadows before praying for Amenadiel to come to his aid. Lucifer felt Raphael's hand on his arm.

For the first time in eons, Raphael was gentle with him, and it was this that rang Lucifer's toll of fear louder. Glancing over at Amenadiel, the healer said, "There's no need to explain when you can see. I am going to show you. Prepare yourself."

With one hand on Canaan and the other on his fallen brother, Raphael acted as a conduit. The images flashing through Lucifer's mind were a furious swirl of Canaan's thoughts and feelings. Blinks of reflections on events large and small, malleable future plans, the solidified past…far dimmer, then a sudden contravention through a cracked barrier guarding fetid darkness. A horrifying kaleidoscope of anger, unendingly searing pain, tumult of frenetic helplessness caught in a paralytic web. Worst of all, guilt and desolation permeated with the need to escape so intense it was nearly palpable. It was as if he'd been transported directly back to the worst traps of Hell.

Shaken, Lucifer wrested himself from his brother's grasp. "So? Whatever it was that hurt them put that there. The incorporeal version of the sludge Cerberus had in his wounds."

"No, Lucifer." Raphael was could not allow his brother the false mercy of self-deceit.

"She works in a human hospital. Tries to repair the broken ones. Carnage, day after day for years on end. That grates, eventually. As I know all too well. It's likely just all her memories blemished with this injury."

"Luci," Amenadiel's voice was not without pity, but allowed his brother no escape into delusions either. "I felt it, too. What you say may be true…"

"It IS! I don't deal in falsehood!" Lucifer nearly snarled with the effort to not see…not feel what he was shown. The images stained his mind and he felt her pain as rooting, twining sickness in his chest. He'd had no idea what she'd hidden was this profound to her. It was all he could do not to tear himself raw to be rid the internal stench of it.

"…but it is not the only truth. At some fundamental level, she wanted out of this life. Surrendered herself. Yes, there were fouler influences here; purposeful maliciousness, as you say. However, this…" his hand gesturing over the broken form, "…this is not JUST the result of something dark externally...a personal choice: her free will limits me in what I can do for her. Body or soul." Raphael was firm, but not harsh. As much as he despised his brother's past actions and found him tremendously frustrating, his own nature was not one of cruelty. Only truth, and he knew Lucifer's requirement for that as well would not allow him to circumvent it for long. He watched anger become despair and his proud brother bow under inevitability.

"She had joy in her…only yesterday, claimed happiness…" Troubling to hear the defeat of acceptance marring his beautiful voice.

"Well, you've seen that here too. It's just not the only thing. And not the strongest, unfortunately."

"Will you do what you can?" Somehow, the faint hope in Lucifer's voice was harder to hear. Raphael sighed.

"I'll do what she'll allow. You, of all….you should know how important free will is to some."

"I'll be grateful. Thank you." Lucifer reached out to touch her for the first time, trembling fingers closing over her left hand. Not broken. No, not broken…just bloodied. Surely recoverable? Barely seeing the ruin of her body and the inconsistent twitch of her agonal breathing….keeping yesterday's image of her rising to the sky from the evening water foremost in his mind and simply having faith in hope. It was all he could do so he did. He closed his eyes and waited for others to give aid he could not render. Silent supplication for more abettence than was visible here. Amenadiel and Raphael exchanged glances…such strange temperance from their fiery brother…

The healer once more lay hands over the shatter of human in the crimson slush. As Amenadiel had done for Cerberus, he could only try to purge whatever outside influences of malevolence had a hand in this and see what was left. As he worked and the some of the foulness lifted, he was surprised, and said so. "She's stronger than I'd have thought, underneath…and despite this burden."

A pained smile from Lucifer. "Yes. She is. Held me off for quite a while…can you imagine?" A harsh laugh. "And still confounds me at nearly every turn. Perplexing." He spoke in short phrases, giving little snippets of their story. With Dr. Linda Martin far away and their contact inconsistent; with Maze being angry and distant, he'd not confided in anyone else about Canaan…or any of the other things puzzling him. His brothers were baffled by the emotion in the disjointed words: sharp and icy blocks cracking together on a river thawing but still frigid.

They returned to silence, only the occasional gust of wind howling through the trees disturbing the quiet hum of Raphael, stunning iridescent wings flashing - collecting and dispersing the energy around them. Discarding the dank, conserving the pure. At last he sat back on his heels.

Lucifer felt the shift and opened his eyes, looking at his brother. Simply waiting.

"I've done what I can. She's still alive. Not quite ready to truly give up, despite a rather extraordinarily potent transient desire otherwise. I removed the effect of that influence, set some latent healing within her to keep her subdued for a time, but…she's not whole, Lucifer. Not properly sound. You felt that, too." Raphael saw his brother's dark head nod.

"She told me as much, a time back."

"Is that so? Interesting. Did she say why?"

"She did not. It brings pain…" Thinking of her break the other night on the piano bench.

"Acknowledgement without disclosure, and growth through anguish…these are interesting creatures of our father's. Baffling, though."

"Agreed."

"Speaking of baffling…you're going to have to come up with a way to explain this to the other corporeal ones…and give a fair amount of thought on how this occurred in the first place. Something's clearly run amok. And I dislike saying this to you…" Raphael paused. He knew what he had in mind would be difficult for Lucifer to hear. He was uncertain to what degree.

"Tell me, Phae." Hearing the companionable nickname from his estranged brother let him know indeed how grateful he was. This would be hard.

"…as I said, I dislike saying this to you. I do not tell you what I think to cause hurt. Only to warn. This one is fractured. Broken. Not just her body. For whatever reason it was that began it, herself or events or both, there are splinters of essential dissention within. Light and dark shards both tearing at her. Both trying to grow. And whatever caused this…" sweeping his hand to indicate the evidence of blood and purged gore strewn on the trampled snow around Canaan and Cerberus "…can seep in easier through those cracks. And further…" he steeled himself against the darkening expression on his brother's face"…you're not of help to her. Harmful, even."

"What?" Lucifer's voice was threateningly low. The warning not directed to Raphael: a generally ominous tone…like far-off thunder on a sweltering summer day.

"She had some protection up against whatever's inside her. Some barriers. They're not intact anymore, and the malicious filth here exploited that."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"She's caught betwixt staying sheltered and growing out. It's difficult, and she's weakened. Especially now. From what you've said, you are perhaps the reason she'd trying to change and if…when…this 'influence' lurking on your periphery comes again…it will take her, as she is. And she won't just perish, Lucifer. You know exactly what will happen. Consider well if you want that responsibility. She has to heal this…to withstand you. Sustained, we're often too much for them at their best, much less as battered as this one is. And - she has to do it herself."

The two angels of light looked at the dark one. Saw him hood his eyes, rise and look around. "You're so very, unquestionably right."

His brothers shared a potent glance between them.

"About…?"

"I need to find a way to sort this. And I will. 'Hell to pay' comes to mind." They heard the thinly muffled fury here. Saw the glimmer of crimson fire in his eyes. Their oldest brother may not be all he once was, but the force he could still wield was extraordinary when he called it up. Remembering what Raphael said about his anger he took a deep breath and stoked it low, converting it to raw power in conservation. Waiting for the right opportunity to rectify this. Lucifer narrowed his eyes further looking at the ruin around them. "But first, to take care of them. Mena…will you ask Mazikeen here? She's currently quite angry with me…and her logistical assistance is required."

"Certainly, brother." Amenadiel's ebony skin cracked in a smile as he closed his eyes. Two more cracks in rapid succession. The first, Mazikeen's appearance. The second, her thunderous blow to the side of Lucifer's face, nearly felling him.

"Did I not say….did I NOT SAY…from the FIRST that this would not be pretty? Well." Looking around at the disaster on the snow. "Told you so. Hope you're happy."

"Maze..." Lucifer rubbed his cheek.

"No more words necessary from you. At least one of us knows their role." With preternatural speed she moved, the fouled snow around them fading, softened over with new gusts carrying white powder. She used her phone to call for help, altering her voice to sound appropriately panicked about 'her boss and a hospital staff member who'd had an accident during a retreat break'.

Still glaring at Lucifer. "I'll distort their memories and understanding when they arrive, but you need to look more the part, and I can't wait to give you what punishment you deserve for this mess I have to deal with." She rained strikes on him, as only an immortal can on another. Lucifer allowed it, staggering silently under her furious cuffs as both Raphael and Amenadiel looked on in shock.

Finally Raphael said to him, "Mena, I don't think I'm needed here any longer…unless she continues unabated. Younger one, you have your hands full with that work-in-progress." Indicating Maze with warily raised eyebrows.

"Yes, indeed I do." The warrior's golden eyes warmed with his impressed smile as he watched his consort's one-sided fray. Seeing Lucifer get walloped was not entirely unsatisfactory.

"Look after our errant brother. If you can, and if he'll allow…I have a feeling the worst is to come for him, if not for this human he's intrigued by."

"I'll try…thank you, Phae." Nodding, the healer left in a wash of light.

When the whop-whop-whop of the helicopter blades could be heard over the ridgeline, Amenadiel disappeared with Cearrebus. True to her word, Mazikeen spun the flight crew and law enforcement that arrived within the fictional web of 'business meeting break gone wrong' on a walk when Canaan and Lucifer had slipped and she'd fallen, smoothing over inconsistences with a golden tongue. Alive as Raphael had said, it was still with significant injuries she was flown back, and Lucifer promised to follow for his own evaluation with his assistant. He cringed as he remembered Canaan's quip about 'not coming back as an emergency' as she was preparing to leave on Friday afternoon. He'd done all his worrying over the snowstorm she was driving through, never imagining he could be bringing her into danger himself. Maze looked at him closely after everyone had left. Evaluating his silence. Feeling his temperance lidding over boiling rage…the latter was what she knew best of him. The former was more confusing. The combination made her curious.

"You do actually care, don't you? About this human. After everything that happened with the other ones?"

"Yes." Strong voice.

"Your folly. And she's the one paying for it."

"Yes. It would seem." Soft voice. Pained.

Curious perhaps, but also still angry at what she considered his self-indulgent, short-sighted imprudence and her own difficulty with this renewed contact between them. "Well. I've cleaned up enough of your mess, 'role-playing' or no. Do the rest yourself for once." She threw his keys toward his feet in the trampled snow.

"And Lucifer?"

He looked over at her, darkly quiet. Gauging this demon guardian he'd sent away…yet who'd come quickly (and painfully) back when asked.

"Come find me…us. When you're ready." With that, she disappeared.

Lucifer was left in the clearing in the late morning's light, bruised, shaken and now that he was alone, uncharacteristically apprehensive. He stood quietly for a time, trying to listen. For something…he knew not what. Guidance maybe. That feeling of recent comfort he'd found being quiet under the sky. He'd been tasked to stay on this plane…ever uncertain as to why. More uncertain now. Led as ever by his own desires, and despite what Raphael had said, he wanted to see Canaan. She'd never regained consciousness here, although the worst of her physical injuries were healed by his brother 'as much as her free will would allow; still with significant damage inside', he had said. What did that mean? Who would want to be damaged? Wondering what he would find at the end of his journey, and what degree of what kind of injury would be present in her, he decided that not knowing was worse. He had gathered a few things and headed east down an uncertain road.


	35. Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-hospital after she's woken when the Devil has had it. Short graphic description of physical injury midway. The book and author mentioned are real.

Chapter 35: Ash

[ - ]

It was only early evening when he'd left the hospital, but well after midnight when he finally arrived. Not that the northerly trip itself was overly long…just at one point he'd pulled off at a specified 'scenic overlook' and just stopped. Tried to stop everything. Time. His mind. Slipstream of thought he was, as ever, in little control of. He'd left the truck, initially near oblivious to the bitter cold of the saltwater spume and nightwind. No stars tonight under the low, scudding winter clouds. No moon. No light at all. He leaned on the glazed guardrail over the bluff…seeking, searching.

For naught.

As ever so, as it always seemed.

The exposure helped; it dulled the irritating burn of angst enough to endure the mundanity of steering and pedal manipulation…and breathing and heartbeat…and after a scant few hours he'd arrived. Expecting only cold and dimness he'd been surprised to see the anticipatory glow of a few lights down the long, private driveway. The shore house was built into the high brace of the bluff above the beach, and after he'd pulled the truck into the drive Lucifer was glad beyond expectation to see two silhouettes in the warm lights of the far side of the long kitchen. He paused, back against the cold door. So much passed between all of them. So much past.

The welcoming bark on the other side warmed him.

The three faces waiting as he opened the door, more so.

Cearrebus was first to greet him, all giant warm delight and enthusiasm. He was still saddened to see the physical change in his guardian – those icy seams of scar on his muzzle and threading under the thicker fur on his legs and chest - but after the initial furry joy and happiness he eventually had to stem the animal's searching behind him, around him, scenting…wanting to go outside that hurt him worse. Lucifer caught the regal head in his hands, whispering in the rough ear, lowly, "She's not here. Stop looking. Please." The animal whined softly, crystal blue eyes searching brown before again ducking to run his nose under his master's hands.

"He's recovered well, brother, don't you think?" The deep voice of Amenadiel was almost as welcome as his guardians' greeting. Both of them: Mazikeen was smiling her small, kindred smile at him from across the kitchen where she was pouring two tumblers, pleased to see his return.

"Mena, yes. Thank you, again. Ever so." Lucifer ruffled the huge ruff and scolded gently the huge feet pawing his wrinkled clothes.

Coming closer, Maze appraised him. Like they all did, he healed quickly but the bruises that had confused Canaan were still present faintly over his cheekbones and temples. "Nice face."

He gave her a small, sardonic glare. "I've always thought so."

"If you would…?" His demon waved one of the glasses in her hand toward the darker living space beyond the kitchen.

"Well, that depends…what've you got there?" Now beginning to smile at her.

"Just the Macallan…it was all you'd left here…" She spoke slowly, hopeful but yet unsure of his reaction.

"Lovely. Missed that spirit. Been too long, yeah?"

They sat together in front of the fire she'd stoked, sipping slowly. Not speaking yet – not needing to. They'd been together for eons; and the occasional sharp friction between them was something Mazikeen now understood differently. Especially knowing as he could not. Yet.

Eventually his demon spoke.

"Are you…is she…?"

Bit of a sharp bark in his voice that caught the attention of the huge animal that had followed to lay at his feet. "Just splendid, clearly." Low rumble of a warning growl. Followed by a multi-noted sigh from the triptych. "I'm fine; just…had enough of it all for now. More than enough pain and misery trapped in that place. Too close to…"

"Home?" Her quiet voice.

"The latter of my two. The one I don't want, not the one that doesn't want me."

The merest flicker of a scarred eyebrow was her only input until she spoke again.

"Are you avoiding my second question?"

He paused, eyes lowered at the firelight. Sipping the sweet sting from his glass. "No…just wondering why you're asking."

Maze paused. "I suppose I deserve that."

Lucifer looked over at her, curious to see how she'd respond to what he said next. "She rebuked me, you know. For not listening to you, not asking you why you acted in the manner you did."

Maze simply stared at the flames, in minor shock at his words.

"Really."

"Surprised me as well. Had quite a human opinion on the subject. Seems to think it wasn't necessarily her at all…just the concept of my attachment you're afraid of."

Mazikeen laughed, low. Shaking her head. Partially true, but not completely. "'Afraid', huh? Interesting choice of word. Well, I'll say like you, I'm surprised." More serious now. "Are you? Going to ask me?"

Lucifer stared straight ahead into the flames, their reflections dancing on the shine of his eyes giving all the appearance of the terrible crimson fire he could call up from within. "No, Mazikeen, I am not. Whatever you thought you were doing - why you were at all…that level of defiance…no, I don't think I'd like to see such from you again. Might be a more permanent sort of rift after, hear me?"

"I do." Knowing as he did not, what he was threatening was quite impossible, yet she'd not push him on it. Yet. He was too…murky, now. Disturbed under his light affect.

"Good."

They sat quietly together for a time further, watching as the fire in front of them died down along with the flames of their animosity. Amenadiel joined them, confounded as ever by both, but confusion seemed to have no compunction in the strength of those feelings, for one especially. Lucifer had, as always, sprawled himself center on the couch which meant that Mena needed to squeeze close to Maze on the end.

Not an entirely unpleasant situation.

He felt long fingertips rub his shoulder. Lucifer was still looking straight ahead to the fire, but had stretched his arm over the back of the couch to him. "Comfortable, brother? Quite a cozy little picture here, yes? Or a precursor for some seriously deviant depravity…you game?"

The angel shook his bald head, not sure if he was disgusted or relieved to hear his brother's familiar tone. "Lucifer, you are…incorrigible."

For some reason that word made the dark eyes narrow and the smirk deepen. "Yes indeed. I've heard this description before as you might well imagine. Recently and repeatedly, in fact."

Maze just smiled…a small strange one as she sipped. Lucifer sounded as he always did, but even though they'd had no direct contact for the past few months she had never been remiss in keeping a weather eye out for him. Both disturbed and perplexed that he'd been spending more time alone or with only Cearrebus. Traveling to work on his 'projects', but never partaking, declining to imbibe in offered pleasures of the flesh. It wasn't like that human had been taking his time either…they'd had no contact at all until just the other day…yes, more complications than would seem readily apparent. Surely nothing good could come of any of Lucifer's changes in behavior. Something felt distantly ominous, like a slight barometric shift from a still far-off storm.

For a time the three sat quietly, rebalancing. The fourth stretched before them, his appearance apparently at ease but both Lucifer and Amenadiel felt the presence of cloaked tension the beast had had ever since his injuries.

Finally Lucifer rose. "I'm exhausted, Mazie."

She observed him closely. Being immortal as he was, the vulgarities of the physical weren't such a threat to him. Hunger, tiredness, weakness…none of these; yet he did look worn. Too much so, for her liking, but she was loath to disturb the friable peace between them with her concerns. For now.

"Well go then. I'll be…available if you need."

Casting a final glance over his shoulder at them as he left the room, faithful dog rising to follow, he simply said, "I'm glad of it. And don't forget whose house you're in – no messes now, kids." She had taken his glass as he stood and looked at the two together, pinched close by her fingers on the rims. They both had a tiny bit left of the potent amber liquid in them, and as she tilted her hand, the liquid spun the same though separated by the clear, heavy glasses. That fallacy of separation where stronger forces were at work. Under and in all things, always. All ways.

She set them on the floor and settled closer to Mena, pleased he was here with her. Not that she'd tell him.

He smiled slightly. He already knew.

His expression changed as he watched the flames. The fierce flares dying low now, thick light licking against the ashes of the long, cobbled coals. Barely hidden destruction glowing under the char of the once resilient wood; destroying it from the inside out. Even if they doused it completely now, the wood was forever changed…damage had a way of doing that.

"What are you thinking?"

Her words surprised him, lost in thought as he'd been. Amenadiel sighed, unsure.

"Come come, you don't want me torturing it out of you now, do you? Though I've had lots of practice at that; I'm quite skilled…" Her dark tease did lighten him and he returned it with a low chuckle.

"You sound like my brother. It's a little unnerving."

"Well, after what you said about Cearrebus and I…you're not truly surprised, are you?"

"Probably not."

He went quiet again, but she wasn't letting him off the hook so easily.

"Come on, I hear your kind loves a good confession…lay it on me, and I'll give you an appropriate penance. Role-reversal might be fun to play with." Sharp elbow nudge.

He laughed. Father forgive him but she said such wrong things in just the right way. Pried him right out of his serious shell. But what he had to say wasn't light-hearted, and moreover, it wasn't sure what it all meant, or could mean. For more than a few.

"I did not tell you everything that happened that day, Maze."

"Really? Keeping secrets? How very deviant. Perhaps there's hope for your stodgy self yet, Mena." Her words and tone were teasing, but she was watching him closely. He had told her something rather profound already, yet this…whatever it was…this was bothering him more. Concerning him more. "Well then, go on. Hurry up! These aren't the sort of tenterhooks I prefer being kept on."

His golden eyes narrowed crossly, but his smile belied the glare.

"Have you ever read a human author called Piers Anthony?"

The demon rolled her eyes. This was not the ilk of confession she'd been expecting. "No. Lucifer is the reader…though why he wants to jam his head full of humanity's drabblings I could not begin to tell you. I prefer action; the more the better. Thick. Fat. Hint." Amenadiel sighed. His brother wasn't the only incorrigible one, and no small wonder, considering…

"Fine, fine, just asking. There's a concept in one of his books, On a Pale Horse, which came to mind when I saw something disturbing on Sunday."

"It seems there was a fair amount of disturbance. You'll need to be more specific."

Slowly, Amenadiel began to tell her of what he'd seen.

"When Lucifer called me, she was already on the edge. We saw her fall…" he paused on this word, troubled. Then continued with, "…she hit an outcropping, quite hard."

Maze nodded. On her quick descent in, she'd seen the desecration of the white snow scorched with the human's blood. Even with Raphael's presence, she was surprised the woman had survived.

"I grabbed him and flew quickly…he nearly set me ablaze trying to hurry me, that bastard. I dropped him on the cliff base and flew to arrest her descent. Truthfully, I thought she was already gone. I just didn't want Lucifer to see her any worse after a second impact, I suppose. It seemed an unnecessary cruelty."

Maze bit her lip. Lucifer had flamed? He'd shown quick alterations in his visage before…usually to those whose minds he was intent on destroying but…manifesting his fire on this plane was another matter entirely. She shook her head, letting it go for the moment as Mena was still talking.

"She wasn't dead though, Maze. Nor unconscious either, though her eyes…well, the only one remaining, was closed." He paused, fretting. Mazikeen settled herself closer. Listening attentively yes, but giving comfort in her way as well.

"Most mortals - with those kinds of injuries - if conscious would be screaming and flailing, but she wasn't. She was…" He paused again, clearly struggling with his expression of what he'd seen. What he thought about it.

"'She was' – what Mena?" Speaking more gently to him.

"She was smiling. With what was left of that face and jaw…smiling. Not with pleasure – not like something you might've seen in Hell. With relief – like the pain was giving her peace. It looked so…wrong Mazikeen."

So, indeed this human was more interesting than the demon thought. But her angel was overly troubled, so she pressed him on.

'What does that have to do with some book?"

Amenadiel widened his golden eyes and shook his head, refocusing. "Well, in the story, the main character, Death…"

"…I like it already. Go on."

Mena cut eyes at her, but was relieved for the humor.

"…as I was saying, Death's job in the story is to measure souls where the balance of good or ill is too close to call."

"'Measure souls'. How amusing; like they're finite. Like a fabric shipment or some such."

"I know! Laughable. Anyway. In one instance the man dying said, 'don't bother, I'm not going to Heaven or Hell because I don't believe I have a soul'. And Death smiles, because he knows better. But Maze, after the man dies his soul does indeed disintegrate before Death can take its measure. Because he did NOT believe, it ceased to exist."

"Free will…" she mused. "But I still don't understand what this has to do with…what you're bothered by. I've no idea of this human's thoughts on the matter, but she saw me, and surely knows more about him so…she must at some level realize there are mysteries beyond her little world."

"No no…" Shaking his head. "It's not that simple. You know how mortal souls work; easier to determine obviously valiant or obviously deficient, but it's long work for all, regardless. Even the suicides are recoverable eventually, just differently than the others. Once set, energy can never be truly created or destroyed, merely unbound and recalibrated. But this was…not simply that. She wasn't just opting out: that one was seeking total annihilation, Maze. That's what that horrible smile meant. And you know how easy that is to find – especially near him."

Maze considered this carefully. Could that be it? Could that human be seeking him for the darkness? Even if she only realized in the hidden aspects of her mind? What might that knowledge do to him?

"Does he know?"

"Of course he does. That sort of ravening darkness formed when he fell; you know that."

"No! I meant, 'does he know about her expression'? Did you tell him she was still conscious when you caught her?"

"No."

"Why?" She narrowed her eyes, preparing to evaluate his response closely.

"Actually…I'm not sure." He was. He was also sure that his confusing consort was at her essence, Lucifer's demon. And being unsure of his brother's thoughts he did not want to voice his own to her on this little subset tangle he was trying to work out. At least not yet.

Maze was sure he was shielding something, just not what. Angels were impossible liars, even by omission. Even Lucifer was still a truth-teller, although he seemed to revel in the mayhem it usually caused. Still, she let Mena's little feint pass unchallenged for the moment. "Do you plan to? Tell him, that is?"

"I'm undecided…Raphael told he ought to stay away from her, yet look where he's been for the last two days."

Indeed.

"Well. Maybe let him find out on his own, then?"

"Maybe."

They both sat quietly watching the last of the light die from ashes. Quiet yes, but for different reasons, neither peaceful.


	36. Tearing Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecoming sucks, casseroles and all. Graphic descriptions of physical injury.

[ - ]

The price to pay for returning home was running the gauntlet of everything that irked her in modern medical care. Cloying hospital people; even though she knew they meant well, she detested being the focus of attention…the only role she was comfortable with was caregiver. Canaan had newfound respect for her non-medically trained patients in dealing with the blitzkrieg of paperwork, instructions and follow-up that consolidated into her ticket to freedom. Since she refused a stay on the rehab floor, she accepted and signed for care including transport from a visiting nurse service. Thankful for the elevator in her building, four-point cane (and the sturdy wheeled walker with basket and seat), she was grateful to arrive in her own foyer, shedding the transport person…just to see Ms. and Ms. Cailleach ensconced on her overstuffed chairs with a plethora of tinfoil-wrapped casseroles. Artery-cloggers in free radical shells. And Lucifer. He was leaning on her front door with a patiently chivalrous look on his face as the older women's chittering bathed him in refined archaic mannerisms. He'd told her briefly of his guise as plumber: apparently they accepted him in a 'Guy Friday' role as well…although Canaan was sure there were some clandestine looks exchanged between the two adorable biddies. It took some time, some fussing and some placating with sherry she kept just for them but at last she and Lucifer were alone in her house.

Canaan lay on the loveseat in front of the fire he'd stoked for her, different damaged parts cushioned on pillows. The snow falling outside pulled the winter afternoon into dim evening quickly. She could hear him puttering about in her kitchen and tried to crane her neck over the back of the sofa so she could see him – no luck.

"What are you doing?"

"Quit being such a busybody. You shall know soon enough."

She groused to herself. It was a hard truth to learn: clichés are such for a reason. Medical people DID make for awful patients. Overly accustomed to independence and bad memories she had found being cared for at the hospital a trial, and had fought to come home early – threatening to leave AMA if necessary. A hellish two weeks, present company excluded; not that she'd seen him before now, although it was a welcome change to again have written exchanges to share. Canaan had thought she'd feel better here, but it was almost worse as her current state was so incongruent with her normal home routine. And it had only been a few hours…she was not relishing weeks of slow recovery. She already had plans for telecommuting and setting up her hospital office differently.

What the hell (hahaha) was he doing in there?

Maybe trying to organize the multitude of frozen casseroles from her elderly neighbors. If they didn't have access to pasta, canned goods and Cream of Some Damn Thing soup Canaan was convinced they'd starve, bless their little hearts.

At a louder clatter she managed to successfully hitch herself up over the upholstery to observe. Mayhem ensued in her kitchen. Pots, pans, a few dishes and dry staples were all out of her upper cabinets and lined up on the countertops.

"Lucifer!"

"Settle yourself. You're in no condition to go up on stepstools anytime soon, and this way you can access everything to get by. Of course, you'd not need ANY augmentation if you would just stay with me, or 'your people' but you do insist on acting the stubborn git."

She flopped back down on the couch, smiling. He had her pegged. Still…

"Just please stop…you've done enough. Come by me. You'd probably feel rotten if I wind up having to go back in for fractured vertebrae from trying to ogle you from here." She was teasing him, clearly being in no prime condition for the kind of sport he preferred, but the effect was diametrically opposed to the intention.

He froze where he stood.

They'd never finished the conversation they'd started when she'd first awoken. He had no idea what she remembered, and she had no idea how critically she'd been injured before Raphael's care. Without his brother…she'd be worse than dead. He could feel how close she'd come to that annihilation. And wasn't out of danger yet simply because he was here.

And he did feel rotten. Moreso now because of Phae's warning to him that he was ignoring just by being here…but where else could he be on her first night out? This stubborn, strong person who was so weak…maybe in the morning.

Struggling to push these thoughts from his mind, he brought over his other little project to her: a steeped teapot, two cups and cheese with fruit on the same tray she'd taken to him in her bath. Seemed a lifetime ago, his, not one of theirs, and he thought circumstances were complex then. What a fool he'd been. Was still. He settled down in front of her on the fire-warmed rug with long legs stretched under the coffee table and made a show of listening to little stories about Life as Irritable Patient co-starring Flamboyant Steve, Laissez-Faire Lois and Asshole Orthopod with Awfully Rude Moniker. He made the right 'attentive noises' and nodded along to her anecdotes…but his mind was on Raphael's words. He didn't even realize she'd stopped talking until he felt her brush her left hand over his neck. He looked up at her, having no idea how haunted his eyes seemed in the firelight.

Canaan had been about to apologize for prattling on incessantly, but that expression didn't match an indulgent caregiver. It was the face of someone lost.

"What's wrong?"

He belatedly realized how he must appear and glossed it over with adept change of expression and mild banter about overly self-absorbed invalids but she wasn't having it.

"Lucifer. You don't lie, remember?"

In an instant all the blithe words dissolved on his tongue. All he could see was the pulped mess she'd been in the fouled snow: leg crushed and twisted nearly free from the rest of her, forearm shattered through ribboned flesh, back torqued, choking on the blood pouring from her fragmented jaw and sick, horrifically wrong depression over her right cheekbone and temple. Destruction. Deconstruction. All those hellish tortures superimposed on the (relatively) healthy image before him now. Relatively. His brother had warned him all that was nothing compared to what lay within. All he could hear was Raphael's voice, "She has to heal this…to withstand you. Sustained, we're often too much for them at their best, much less as battered as this one is. And - she has to do it herself…" and by the knot in his gut he knew with staunch conviction that he was going to leave her. Maybe not in the next five minutes, but very soon: well before he'd risk anything horrendous happening like that again.

And she'd not forgive him for it, never, how could she - because there could be no explanation, no further contact between them. She'd feel deceived and abandoned and he was powerless to stop that pain. Powerless yet again. Powerlessness as he was tasked to experience over and over again, in any myriad of ways. The same lessons repeated, crushing what was left of him.

The realization was searing. Anything he did, any kinship he truly experienced with these creatures he was trapped with here – Delilah/Father Frank/Chloe and her daughter/Gideon - now Canaan. It always went so horribly wrong and the same ending transpired - he was impotently alone - although the reasons were unique to each. He covered his eyes with one hand, the same position she'd seen him in when she'd woke a week ago.

"Lucifer..?" Her voice was gentle, but frightened. Not of him. For him. She stretched to touch him, and he heard the low expression of pain as she did so. That soft sound was the death knell, the line carved in stone between what he desired and what he felt he could risk to get it.

If he couldn't have everything he wanted, he'd take something….some last good memory with him to leach hurt from the terrible ones. For as clouded as his recollection before it, he never, never forgot anything after his fall. Ever. And time never dulled inflicted pain or terror…none of it. To constantly be swamped by old and new with no rudder, without his wings few ways to control the ever present influx of sensation – his own and others'….well, just another 'gift' from his father as his own personal Hell locked inside his head. The 'gift' that surely could only end in madness…the final unequivocal result of the long destruction of this rebellious son. He pivoted to kneel in front of her, his cheek going down on her chest, facing away from her eyes and his arms folding between them.

He felt her startle. "Hey now…it's all right…"

It most certainly was not. And could never be for them. Never for him. Maybe for her if could just bring himself to leave this little comfort he'd unexpectedly found. He cut her off -

"Lay your hands on me. Please. Not sex…just let me feel you..." Not saying 'one last time', not saying her name – it wasn't her given one after all, just as 'Lucifer' wasn't his only. She'd never brought the change up herself and rebuffed any attempts at his queries after the first time he'd asked on the park bench. It mattered so very little anyway, didn't it, when this connection was beyond articulation? He closed his eyes, waiting. Needing. Hearing her heartbeat under his ear, feeling certain he would not again.

His silent farewell.

Canaan petted him, unsure of why he was so distressed but loath to ask again when he clearly wasn't ready to answer. She moved her casted right arm so she could press her fingertips against his forehead, as one would comfort a feverish child. Left hand stroking over his hair. Down his neck. Across his shoulders as far as she could reach and along his near arm where it rested beside her. It hurt to realize that instead of soothing him, she could feel tension building. He was trying to gather strength to leave, but she did not interpret it as such. Canaan tried to pull him gently to face her, but he refused, locking his body. Afraid that if he looked in her eyes he would fail to depart. Fail again. Fail her. Certain of it when he heard a soft voice.

"I am so sorry…"

He gritted his teeth. How in Heaven could she think she'd done something wrong? He had to go now, right now, before things became dangerous. Before the shadows always trailing him came for her pain again.

He stood abruptly, still facing away. "It's time for you to rest. Close your eyes."

"Will you be here after if I do?"

He was silent. He had told her he didn't lie. Promised it. Of course he'd promised he wouldn't hurt her, either. He was already failing.

"Lucifer. Tell me what's going on."

"Shhhh. Sleep now." He turned halfway back, glancing over her body as he waved his hand down. Pulling stillness and calm from the air to envelop her with lassitude. It wasn't the first time he'd augmented the energy around her and she reacted to the change, wary of what it meant.

"No! What are you doing? Why won't you tell me what's wrong? Tell me what's happening!" Struggling. Making everything worse. He pulled harder, unwilling to tax a damaged body and spirit too far…just wanting her to sleep so he could leave. Escape so she would be safe.

Her eyes flared with brilliant green and blue sparks as she resisted his influence. That fire of energy and power she was unaware of possessing brimming over as she fought, agitation changing to fear. He could feel the charge grow around her body as she reacted.

No.

NO.

NO!

It was as if she was creating a siren call for anything to come feed on her weakness. He'd have to hurt Canaan with the amount of power he'd need to quiet her now – nothing to him, but too much for a human, especially one so near ruin. He tried not to break down himself…it would only invite disaster more quickly. He pulled more power and she fought harder. No longer seeing him but resisting the restraint itself with savage strength. God, why? Why would she not stop struggling? Energy crackled with singeing snaps over them: her fight to be free and his to dampen her. Lucifer was nearly beside himself; it was too much disturbance and surely had already drawn unwanted attention. He was going to be the element of her destruction despite his best efforts otherwise, and he keened in agonized desperation as he pulled ever more painful capitulation down to little avail. He was going to break her with this and now darkness was surely coming to complete her obliteration…when would it ever be enough pain? When?!

As sensitive as he was to her, so others were for him.

"Attend, Mazikeen. Be silent and watchful. This is how you will learn the lessons of sympathy, nonmaleficence and beneficence."

Amenadiel's voice brooked no quarter in compliance. Angel and fluxing demon may have traveled some strange roads together, but he was powerful, commanding – far more so than she by dint of creation despite their occasional play otherwise. He looked at his brother to seek agreement. Not a dark head, but a light one nodded acquiescence. Amenadiel and Raphael joined the plane where their eldest brother struggled with the human neither had realized was quite what she'd seemed.

Linear time slowed to a crawl with their arrival.

Canaan's body arrested in mid-lift, and Raphael's hands came to rest on her temples, wiping free the tangled snarl of desperate élan. Soothing her. Clearing the pain away and blurring the memories of it. The rapid flicker of his wings distorting any trail of disturbed energy the filth may have sought to trace and lulling her instantly to deep sleep. The archangel cradled her back to rest on the cushions and looked up to see Amenadiel kick the coffee table away from where he stood behind Lucifer's raging manipulation of energy.

Their oldest brother was nearly crazed.

"Enough!" ...ragged inhale… "ENOUGHENOUGHENOUGH!" Tearing his palms and forearms bloody, ribbons of flesh fluttering grotesquely from bone as he shook, screaming, staring at his hands in horror. "I wasn't made for this! I WASN'T AND I CAN'T ! NO MORE! Oh please no! This is not what I am! THIS CAN'T BE ALL I AM! …I just…"

Ebony arms closed from the back and grappled the devil, taking them both down to their knees on the floor; not fighting him, just holding on. Amenadiel flared his wings out, creating a concave shell around his brother, who was stunned out of his ferocity for the moment into stillness.

"Now, Phae."

Raphael enmeshed one hand fully with the harvest of power he was capable of wielding…all that he knew Lucifer needed and angling his many layers of wings washed him with it. The surge ricocheted between the iridescent wings of the healer and the raven ones of the warrior, lighting the edges of both as they concentrated. The whole room, sleeping Canaan included and even Maze in observation elsewhere felt the brilliance of it, as well as the splashback of pacification from the healer for his brother. Lucifer slumped down against Amenadiel's chest, panic blessedly rescinded, wounds healing. The warrior kept his grip with a dark hand on a fair face, and one strong arm around his brother's upper body where he'd fallen against him. Not because he was afraid of violence, but he knew succor was needed. It was a testament to how intense that need was that Lucifer did not fight him off, or even speak for several minutes after the glow abated. When he finally did, his beautiful voice was quietly calm, full of the relief he'd received unbidden.

"Thank you, brothers. Thank you, ever so, once again."

Maze joined them to observe from a closer vantage point. They all, especially Lucifer and Amenadiel were capable of such destruction and display of raw power. She had never paused to think that Raphael's invocation of peace could be just as powerful…and the aftermath far greater in scope. She hadn't been privy to such an occurrence before now, and hadn't considered the consequences. For a moment she was halted by the silent tableau of three angels and the now-still human. So much to learn…and perhaps more to atone for than she'd thought. She disappeared silently to seek comfort in the one who could truly understand the metamorphosis she was undergoing.


	37. Improvise. Adapt and Overcome. Repeat PRN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can't see it yet, can you…your time on Earth is affecting you; you're changing." "My life is change." "True, but usually you're the one controlling the change. This time you're not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I did not realize this about myself until very recently (as writing fic is for me so, shazzaam on that). Anyway. I write as I 'hear' the characters in my head, and that means I'll often use bolding , or parentheses or italics or font changes. Can't do some of that here (either because we can't in beta or I'm too stupid to figure it out or some combination of both). SO: in lieu of italics (which are actually important in the conversation Maze is having) I'll be using * As in *sometext* It'll make more sense in the chapter I hope.

[ - ]

The mountain house was cold, empty and felt like a mockery of its name. Even though this was where he stayed most of the time when not working or traveling, Lucifer had yet to be back here since the accident. Mazikeen walked through the empty hallways and rooms…she'd rarely been here. Like the shore house, she found it too isolating; too quiet…and herself too prone to the introspection she was so uncomfortable with. She wandered aimlessly, not sure herself what she was supposed to be doing, only that something – different – was clearly needed. Hating that feeling of uncertainty as much as others did. On the top floor the same two doors Canaan had found locked were closed to her as well – as they always had been. The sweep of stars visible through the huge windows on the main floor brought her no comfort. These stars were bitterly cold and distant. The artificial stars of the human cities evoked the light, warmth and activity of Hell for her; the sole way to feel close to the only home she knew other than Lucifer himself. She'd been created there: she'd never fallen away from anything and knew no different. She'd enjoyed her capabilities, her dominion and the respect of the one who made her. It was rare the Lord of Hell got involved in the minor trivialities on that plane; he left that to her discretion. And she relished that role…excelled in it. When he'd begun to show the strain he always felt; his discontent turning to distress and decided to leave she had not understood why. But she was willing, no - eager to follow. How could she not be? She was needed. He needed her, whether it was to be overseer of the dominion he hated, to cleave a path for him in this plane or to give him the best version of the companionship he lacked that she could. She didn't have to understand him completely to be dedicated, it was her function that she excelled at in any capacity…but she understood more now. And these lessons were some of the hardest to learn.

The demon walked downstairs. Her footfalls echoed on the wooden steps, then the stone floor, the noise a comfort. Strike then sound, cause and effect. Exact, precise. As she was. She turned to look back up at the magnificent subtlety of the blended wood staircase, knowing she could not appreciate it as he could. Not needing to. She ran delicately strong fingertips over the formidability of the lower newel post. She admired the inherent strength in the structure; she understood this purpose. The exquisite blending, the craft…this she did not understand so well. If the function was not improved, what was the point? Sighing, she walked down the hall, gazing out the window next to the rarely-used front doors. Snow and ice, rock and trees. Random life: growing, moving, consumed and being consumed as it would. Missing her fire, brimstone and clear-cut organization of the subjects of Hell. No randomness there, other than by what necessary punishments that may be required. Again, under her orchestration. She turned to walk the other way, feeling the vise of frustration lace tighter over her chest. She wasn't deficient in her nature: she was created as an exquisite, intelligent self-aware tool. One with her purpose recently clouded. New growth in unexpected areas. Hating that loss of control, again as others did.

Mazikeen noticed a door open on the end and entered. A room with soft gray walls. She flipped a switch and the two nightstand lamps threw soft colors randomly over the rumple of white sheets and comforter. She sat on the end of the bed, looking at the small piles of un-Lucifer-sized clothes folded on the bench in front of her. Plain. Simple. Subtle.

She understood that differently now as well. The human wasn't as simple as her outward appearance. The subtle, unassuming shell, like these clothes…used for protection like a potholder against heat or a glove against bitter cold. From and for either side. That Lucifer understood somehow, as Maze could not.

She felt a strange pang. She'd seen that odd flash from Canaan's eyes that night she'd followed her from the lobby but had ignored it. Ignored what it could mean…and had never said anything – even to Mena. Mortal life was so…transient. She'd never understood any immortal's fascination with them, Lucifer particularly. What was the point? If they were sent to his father he'd never see them again after death, and if they turned up in Hell…well…he'd have time out of mind to play with them however he saw fit...he was the Lord of Hell…she still found it baffling that he'd abdicated that sole role. Abandoning that clarity of definition she craved. It took seeing him in the context of his brothers to truly appreciate their differences. That Lucifer was more than Hell's sovereign; although that had always been enough for her. No, he was a fallen son, first and foremost the pinnacle of archangels. This was how he truly thought of himself, not as she'd always thought of him. He needed cohesion of all his schism and she could not help him do this, could not perform as she always had. At least not yet.

It frightened her that she was learning differently. Fear of self-uncertainty was not what she'd planned on as a side-effect of these lessons with Amenadiel…not that she'd planned on him, either. Unexpected. She'd never done 'unexpected', not on this level. And although difficult, was not finding it entirely unpleasant. She could feel the wry smile cross her face. Subtlety in distinction…oh these new things…but she could use some help. Thinking to herself that not so long ago, even that alien thought would have been enough to make her rage at the vagueness. Now she sought answers.

Someone else could understand this. More so than any other in all of existence. From the inside out, as she needed to. Mazikeen closed her eyes, disappeared, gave only a cursory beckon to the surprised eyes at her new destination and then reappeared in front of the cold fireplace upstairs at the mountain house with her counterpart.

Cearrebus looked up at her, paced briefly around the room in evaluation and looked out of the huge window at the night outside. Hackles slightly raised and a low growl in his throat. No danger present now, just remembered animosity at his failure. He was a guardian too, and his role had been compromised. His master had been damaged, albeit indirectly and the creature was distressed over it. The huge animal sighed and circled back to where Maze was sitting on one of the chaises. He lay on the other, front paws crossed and chin resting on them, looking at her. She smiled sardonically.

"Are you supposed to be doing that?"

She laughed at the crystal blue eyes, glowing slightly in the dim room as they widened and half-closed again as if to say, 'who's stopping me?' An opportunist, like her.

Maze came to sit on the floor next to his chaise, running her hand over his muzzle and paws. Looking at the new scars, angry on his behalf. "She did that to you, that weak human. Her actions marred you permanently. What do you think she'll do to him if unchecked?"

The dog relaxed his mouth open, that wealth of ivory destruction that was scary here but the stuff of living nightmares in his Hell visage. He looked up, in thought. Closed that fanged trap with a low moan and looked over at her. Tilted his head away and glanced at her sideways, chiding. Maze could essentially feel his tight, sharp thoughts as only she could, not even Lucifer had the ability to communicate with him like this, *'foolish demon. i chose. damage not done to me; for her protection. for her for him. for him, as i am. as you are, yes?'*

"I was." She said this softly, and slapped away the growl of rebuking nip on her neck. "Stop! I am, you know this. I just don't know…how…anymore. I've always known what he needed. Now he doesn't, so I don't either." Same chiding low growl. *'don't be weak. unbecoming of you.'*

"You don't understand. We're not the same…" She stopped as he sighed and turned his head away from her, annoyed. *'no, not the same. i don't surrender. ever.'*

She sighed herself. Is that what she was doing?

*'now, yes. do not. fight. fight with new skill if old is not useful. we were made strong. first creations of first son. improvise. adapt and overcome. yourself first if required.'*

"You're right."

Cearrebus turned his head back toward hers, muzzle laying against the back of her neck. Neither was prone to comfort, either giving or receiving as Lucifer himself was not. Not at the point of their design and only with difficulty now. But like him, they were unique together in all of creation and although different, more similar to each other than any could ever be.

"You know what Amenadiel knows."

Low canine sigh of assent behind her.

"I can't fix that. I can't make that easier for Lucifer."

*'not our role. we don't need to. he does. we just need to be present.'*

"I have to talk to Amenadiel…tell him what I saw."

*'yes. you do.'*

"He'll be angry."

*'you don't know that. besides, fear does not become us, now does it?'*

She laughed. Simple, strong. Exactly what she needed. "You're changing too. But not struggling like me; like any of us really. How is that?" Cearrebus raised his head, looking down upon her. This was no mortal creature. No mere pet. And although his form here was fierce, it was not even close to his true one. The vast power of that shone through the regal blue eyes, blazing at her through the dimness as his snarl lifted the sharp white teeth into view. Coming close to her face, teeth bared.

*'i am strong. always. i discard what would make me weak. not attached to what would make me weak. no false pride. i do not fight the inevitable: i adapt. i change. nothing bests me, not even me. bring next, bring new. new experiences mean new skill. means i get even stronger. woe be to those which may thwart my work. now cease your self-indulgence and get on with your own. we are made strong. act it. be it.'*

"Thank you." She needed to hear that, feel that exactly as he'd delivered it. She stifled a minor chuckle at how fast this creature could run Linda Martin out of business. "I'll ask Mena here." The dog relaxed again, huge jaw resting on the paws beside her shoulder.

*'do that. i respect him.'*

"I do too…more than that as well." She said this softly, then smiled a little as a cold nose nudged the back of her neck, hard.

*'and that is a new skill. makes you stronger. adapt and be done with it. get next skill. i tire of your whining. bite you, give you reason to whine.'*

She laughed again. Formidable as she was, a bite from Cearrebus was no trifling matter. "One last question."

The animal sighed. *'stalling…'*

"No, I'm curious…'

*'…using new skill. good. finally.'*

"Stop! I have to ask…why do you like her? You'd not met the others, is it just because he introduced you to this one?"

*'what is this 'like'? i am for him. she feels for him. also strong enough for him. for what he doesn't know he needs. i keep safe what he doesn't know he needs. as do you, yes?'*

"Perhaps. I wonder if she knows it?"

*'does that matter? she is.'*

"All right. Let's get Mena."

*'finally. more do. less empty say.'* The animal nosed her again, a little roughly, but like her he knew she was his counterpart; similar but not same and they needed to work to maintain their skewed balance to perform as they could.

As Maze closed her eyes to ask Amenadiel here, Cearrebus padded up the curved stairs to his master's rooms. No doors were locked to him and he passed through one easily, slowing as he walked into the small glass room at the end. The one looking east up at the ridge. Where he'd felt his master's pain emanating from as he struggled to save the human. The sharp edge was glowing in the reflected light off the snow. Where the dark had snared him. Hurt him. He wasn't afraid of pain. Failure was his only fear, left over from Lucifer himself. In failing the human he'd failed his master, let him be weakened.

He carried something strong within him. So strong his master could not hold it yet. And the delay was going to prove costly. He sighed, laying down to peer into the night. Next time he met that dark, next time…he would be the victor. As he had always and ever been over it.

Maze and Mena sat together downstairs as she told him what she'd seen in Canaan's eyes the night Amenadiel had stopped her from destroying the human on the street. He sighed and shook his head.

"It was an honest mistake. How could you know? How could you reasonably expect that? Phae healed her - well mostly - and he had no idea. Lucifer himself has been with her for months and had no idea. Two archangels with different types of intimate contact, Maze. And no idea. And we still don't. These…sensitive mortals are rare, and all different. And why now? Most 'turn' as children. And they know it themselves. Not this one. So if they can't and I can't and even she can't…how could you?"

"You're not placating me, are you?"

"That sort of subtlety isn't really my way. Nor yours. We're more direct, don't you think?"

"Yes. And I'm grateful for that." Thinking of the refreshing candor she'd found with Cearrebus. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For…showing mercy, I suppose. Some grace about this."

"Mazikeen. We've been working this. To give it you must first learn to accept it. Learn to do that, already. Adapt."

Exactly what her counterpart had said. Mazikeen decided to act her role, changing though it may be. Making the conscious decision to change with it.

"What's coming is going to be…." She was at a loss for words.

"Whatever is coming will come. We'll all adapt."


	38. Ice: Doomed to Repeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old habits die hard. (like using profanity, apparently)

[ - ]

Canaan woke the morning after coming home to a hell of a headache and insistent tapping on her door. Shaking her head to clear the blear, damn - THAT was a mistake – she slapped a palm on her forehead, trying to keep her brains in. Getting her bearings. Home. On loveseat. Under blanket. Crunchy leg up on pillows, arm on more. Silence…except for that infernal tapping. The fuck…?

"Not really able to move quickly, so you can stop splintering my door anytime, okay?" Sheesh, calling out like that just made her head pound worse. She began to struggle up, ready to liquefy whatever nemesis awaited her wrath. Her rather anemic wrath at the moment, yes, but she'd make due.

"Ms. Raene? It's the visiting nurse. I have the key you lent us, just wanted to warn you I was coming in."

'Well then why didn't you just fucking do that in the first place' Canaan groused to herself. God (oops), she knew she was such an asshole when operating at less than 115% capacity. Speaking of…she looked around her home – no signs of any deities anywhere. That jerk had cut and run after what…drilling drywall screws into her temples and filling the pits with muriatic acid? She remembered falling asleep after her elderly neighbors had left…Lucifer had probably gotten bored. Second most powerful thing in all of existence (so he said) and the attention span of a second-grader snorting Pixie Stiks. Jesus. Shit, no. Yeshua. Knowing Lucifer had put a serious dent into her stock of epithets. One more reason to be irritated.

She didn't get a chance to reflect any further as the chipper little pest bounced in making happy noises at her. Seriously, these sorts of people must bathe in speed-laced Moly: no one was this lively without chemical coercion. She did however, appreciate the assistance getting in and out of the shower and some help moving her workspace around. And organizing whatever Lucifer had done to wreak helpful havoc in her kitchen. Strangely, other than her inexplicable headache her arm and leg felt a lot better than they had (not knowing she had Raphael to thank for some of that). After food and some serious attention to the outer limits of recommended doses of aspirin Canaan felt well enough to behave herself mentally AND outwardly to this perky antagonist.

"So, I'll be here for an hour in the mornings, then James will come in around 6P each day for another. We'll drive you to PT/OT as well."

Oh great. Lovely.

"Yes, well, that's a lot of attention…I don't think I need…."

"Oh, no no…that's what you contracted for when you opted out of hospital rehab. You ARE currently in need of help…and," here the chipper glint was replaced by a mordant gleam, "…you're not the first medical person I've worked with, so don't be a moronic jerk, okay? You might slip and fall or something. Wouldn't that be awful?"

Canaan actually laughed aloud, receding headache and all.

"I sincerely apologize. No offense intended. Please, what was your name again? Because I was calling you something unrepeatable in my head."

"None taken. And Molly."

Well of course it was. Middle name probably 'Speed' and last one 'Laced'.

"All right…I give up. Your terminal cheerfulness is decimating. See you tomorrow."

"Good. Glad we got that straight." Back to rabid pre-school teacher chipperness. "Sandwich and soup in the fridge for lunch. Heat and eat – see ya later, alligator!"

Yeshua Christ, indeed.

Left in the quiet of her home, Canaan puttered through patient files for a bit at her desk, updating and rescheduling, but was a little curious that her earlier text of, 'did you smack me upside with a 2x4 before leaving last night or funnel whisky into me? either way, rude' had garnered no response from Lucifer. She knew he had a busy schedule as well, and traveled a great deal, but didn't think he had said anything specific about today.

Nothing all morning.

Nothing all afternoon.

Evening session with James came and went with no electronic updates. Canaan was relieved this nurse was much more cool and collected. Pleasant, but quieter and she remarked on it.

"I used to be a prison RN. After that milieu short, grumpy, busted-up women aren't scary. Sorry."

Perfect. Calm and sarcastic; one of her favorite flavors. Somehow the dark skin, shaved head and strong musculature made him seem oddly familiar, but she knew they hadn't met. Relieved that at least her evenings would be more serene, Canaan was settling in with tea and a book, still a little perplexed over the lack of communication. She'd missed Lucifer and this unexpected damage to deal with just when things were getting back on whatever track was normal for them? Aggravating. Definitively so.

Nothing the next morning. Nor all week. Nor the next.

She'd sent a few more variations of 'hey, everything okay?' messages for naught, and by the time her two-week PT/OT physical evaluation came around had realized SOMEthing had gone widely amiss. She'd been cleared to return to work, but only to see patients in her office. Still couldn't drive herself…probably not for awhile. Lacking that freedom meant she could not 'just drop by' his building to see if he was in (even if she was still highly wary of running into that Mazikeen). And at this point she really wasn't sure she wanted to stop in unannounced anyway. By the time the first board meeting came around where her project and the other accepted were due to be rolled out she thought surely he'd be there…but no. He'd left direction in absentia, citing other commitments elsewhere. That continued for the next one, and the one after that as well.

So, just nothing? Why? At least when she'd asked for space they'd talked about it. But then again, this was…he was…quite different. Maybe he'd decided bothering with one scratch-and-dent human was more boring trouble than it was worth and gone back a simpler palate of flavor-of-the-moment. At the seat of her mind she hoped this wasn't so…but as more time passed it looked more plausible.

Two months after her accident she finally got clearance to get back into the operating room and trauma bays. She thought the flurry of activity and crisis management would take up her headspace a little better than busywork, but found one Lucifer Morningstar still at the forefront of her thoughts most of the time. At the end of her first week she allowed her team to drag her out after their last shift. It was a decent hour, off at 8P, and she had missed them – more than she'd allowed herself to miss almost anything else in such a long time.

And why not go out for one evening? It's not like there was anything other than work to take up her time now.

"Honey are you okay to walk? It's only a few blocks but it's still nasty out with all the ice."

Canaan smiled at her. She still had a bit of a limp although PT was coming along well and it was kind of the woman to notice. "Faye, we've just been standing still for twelve hours handing sharp and shiny things back and forth. I could hack some movement so long as Dale doesn't need to chase down some new boy and drag us with him."

"I heard that, smartass. I don't chase – you know they all come running to me." She laughed, but hearing the snappy confidence tugged at her. It sounded familiar. Or it had.

Bundled and buffered by her teammates, Canaan found herself walked in a happy, chattery knot in the February chill to a cheerful bistro not far from Lucifer's building. She eyed the the top level as they passed through the adjacent intersection: no lights. No one home. Or no one vertical. She'd never dropped in, and although the thought of driving out to the mountain house had crossed her mind, deep down she knew he'd chosen this rift. Just not why and it was clear he would not allow her to ask. The next few hours were happier ones than she'd had in some time. She was still quieter than most, but pleased that her team didn't seem to care, as they never had; just enjoying being all together again. 'Work hard/play hard' with great people: there were certainly worse ways to spend a life…even if it seemed a little emptier now. Canaan found herself considering staying here instead of moving on after a time as she usually did. Maybe she could learn to put some roots down again and all other things considered, she mentally thanked Lucifer for that. They were all snickering at some of the outlandish Bohner stories they were still catching her up with as they walked back out into the clasp of late evening cold. Further down the block and across the street another group was loudly braving the winter elements, but unlike them it looked like this crew was just getting started on their night. As the two clusters approached each other, Canaan heard a very familiar laugh. A uniquely specific one resplendent in deep bell tones. She looked over and yes, it was him. Of course it was. Who else had that soul-stirring music inside them?

Lucifer was, as always, perfect-looking. Dark gray overcoat that looked like it cost more than the per capita of a small country. Black scarf with a single wrap around his neck and deep crimson leather gloves…and those weren't his only accessories. In the knot of people he was surrounded by the common theme was plastique perfection, vacant eyes and other than his own, laughter that bordered on the shrillness of wind skating a void. A woman that looked the image of Asian Barbie perfection was nearly tucked into his pocket – Canaan couldn't blame her; wearing only sequins and fluffy dead animals short enough to leave her bony legs bare under her crotch probably weren't the warmest choices. Must be rough to have an intelligence quotient lower than the ambient temperature. On his other side was a gorgeous blond with long hair. The man was just a little taller than Lucifer and had an arm slung over his shoulders, patting his chest with the other hand.

Canaan slipped, just a little. In her distraction, she hadn't been watching where she was going. Stepping on a little powdery snow covering a patch of ice made her lose her balance. Dale was right beside her next to the street and hopped nimbly off the curb to catch her elbow and waist.

"Easy now, Raeney! We just got you back…no plans to leave us with morons rotating through to deal with again, are you?"

"Sure Dale, sorry. Thanks. Fucking lightweight." She held onto him, righting herself.

From across the street a pair of dark eyes noted the erratic movement in the small knot of people and focused. The four ahead had stopped to turn and look at the two behind, a man in the street holding a small woman beside him, arms wrapped tightly around each other. The woman had long chestnut hair, loose waves fluttering in the cold wind. Canaan. His heart dropped. First night he'd been back in the city after traveling all winter, hoping to avoid chance meetings like this. First time he'd seen her in so long. She was speaking as she looked up at her companion, small smile of familiarity on her face as he laughed at what she was saying.

"Just be more careful you klutz, okay?" Giving her a swift peck on the forehead as she stood straight. Ernie asking, "Damn Dale, you finally switching teams? Go on Blake – get in there quick!" Sniggering as the younger woman hit him in embarrassment, laughter echoing through the whole group as they all began to move together once more. Dale still kept her arm through his and truthfully, with what she'd just seen across the street Canaan was grateful for the stability. Lucifer watched the camaraderie of the interactions, fiercely hurt as he felt alone in this snarl of shiny party favors. No Maze even, and this outing had been her idea – a way of keeping him from moping as soon as he'd come back. And even though he'd been the one to cut Canaan off (protecting her!) he was bitterly jealous, an emotion he'd never equated with her. She hadn't missed him; not at all. And seemed to have recovered more than well enough in several areas. Humans. Fallacious and fickle indeed. When would he finally learn that?

"Hey man, eyes on me – those idiots aren't in our league." With a sudden clench of strong fingers across his jaw and arm around his shoulders, Lucifer found himself in a faux passionate vise as the blond man mouthed him roughly. "Leave some for me!" came the squawk from the woman under his other arm. The noise and movement got Canaan's attention again and she watched Lucifer being buried in a masculine kiss as the woman beside him ran her hand under the heavy lapel of his long coat, her leg sliding underneath it as she spun to walk backwards in front of him. The others cheered raucously. Amazing they could be coordinated enough to do that and still move forward - but perhaps communal activity was something they practiced. Sure looked that way. The two groups passed abreast of each other separated by the cold glare of ice and eyes. Two pairs locked with the same hurt. Same rejection and confusion.

It was hard for Canaan to realize she'd expected no less…eventually.

It was hard for Lucifer to realize he'd expected much more…eventually.

Their thoughts were exactly the same: 'Perhaps it didn't matter for you as much as it did for me after all. Perhaps I'm too much to bother with. Seems it was easier for you to walk away than I hoped. What a fool I've been, but better now I know.'

Later that night Canaan found herself in her familiarly empty house with her familiarly full thoughts. Books were easier. They didn't cut you open, then cut you off with no explanation. Hurt you simply because they could.

Lucifer found himself in a familiar maelstrom of empty minds and empty bodies squalling to be filled in a lavish hotel suite – he didn't remember their names, or even if he'd been told them. And didn't care to. Vacant sex was simpler. Lavishly barren fucking was hollow fun, apparently all he was good for. None of these miscreants could hurt him.

They both went back to what they knew, marking time until something, somehow would change. Neither having any idea of how to make that happen and after what they saw, not wanting to either. Or wished it to be so.


	39. The Art of Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some instances of profanity. Well, not mine. Canaan's.

[ - ]

“Lucifer?”

“What, Maze? I’m not in the mood for much noise, hear?”

The demon sighed. It had been a few weeks since he’d returned and while things were returning to the relative ‘prior normalcy’ of their time on this plane…it felt anything but. At least from the inside. Never one to be a dull boy, Lucifer had thrown himself back into work and play - extravagant play and a lot of it. He’d returned to his side of their floor mid-morning after his first night back, and she’d initially been pleased he’d taken her suggestion to ‘get out on the town’ seriously as she’d halfway expected him to refuse outright or return quickly. When she’d heard his side of the elevator from her own apartments she came right over. He’d thrown his coat and gloves on the back of the couch and poured himself a rather large portion from the liquor cabinet. Appearing at first glance no worse for wear Lucifer was sitting at his desk, chair swiveled toward the windows. She’d approached him gingerly; over time he’d become more difficult for her to read and she wasn’t certain if she should attribute this to his changes or her own. Maze had decided to test the waters with a very long oar.

“Where’s the scarf I got you? It was warmer in Greece than it will be here for a while.”

“Probably still knotted around a young lady’s wrists…or that blond Neanderthal specimen you found. Bit aggro, he was. Any road, things got hectic. Lost track, my error.” A hard bite of laughter at his own phrase. He took a huge swallow of the scotch, refilling the entire tumbler from the bottle clenched in his other hand. “Expensive I’m sure, sorry Mazie. Replaceable though. As all things are it seems. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” He drained the glass, refilled it completely and repeated before rising. He threw her an offhand, ‘sorry darling, simply exhausted – your fault really’ the same way he tossed the tumbler over his shoulder. As he walked across to his bedroom the near empty bottle dropped from his other hand to roll aimlessly. She had not been sure how to take these words, this affect and at the time he hadn’t said more about any of it.

Nor did he when she saw him later that same evening, knocking on her door. “Let’s go, Maze. Chop-chop. Time waits for no one; not even me, inconsistent bastard that he is.” He’d hurried her to get ready for an unexpected outing, ’find something splashy, yeah? not going to bed you but don’t want to be bored just looking, either’. The swirl of places and people they’d found themselves in that night, and the night after that and the next and on was everchanging. The only constants were the pace and the appetite. The predatory hunter with the charmingly sharp grin and gleam over his hollow eyes devouring everything he saw with smoothly gentrified violence, requiring her presence always. Making her his witness. His unwilling accomplice. The single time she’d tried to caution, to ask why – and he’d heard a specifically wary tone in her voice – he’d turned on her viciously.

Snarling, “This is what you wanted; I’m giving you exactly what you’ve wanted for me. Unless it is me you want again, too – is that it now, Mazie mine? Prefer the dark meat to the light again? Finding all that antiseptic divinity too dull, are you?” He’d leaned into her neck, breath hot and teeth shining. Not knowing if his intention was a punitive kiss or a bite that would tear her throat out she’d held still. Silent. It wasn’t desire he was showing her. It was threat. He’d pulled back, silent as well for a moment, then spoke in his fallen voice, words softened with the ashes of Hell and tone charred with its fire. “Let’s each stick to what we know best, yes? And what you ought to know best is not to cross me. Mind THAT lesson, darling. The remedial education for that is quite…unpalatable, you’d find. I shan’t warn you again.”

So she’d not tried to pry, giving him the mental space and physical proximity he clearly wanted. He was working just as hard in multiple arenas, though for whatever reason refused to attend any of the sessions in person. Anywhere. Mazikeen was fairly certain she knew why at least locally, though he didn’t say, and she wouldn’t ask. He’d only mentioned the human once after the night his brothers had rescued them in her house, and following his oldest brother’s lead, Mena didn’t at all. Mazikeen had the disturbed conviction that out-of-sight did not mean out of mind and on one cusp-of-spring morning was wary to find out her assessment was correct. Apparently out of the blue Lucifer had asked her to ‘just keep an eye out, yeah? see what you see’.

So here they were. Early spring and the only thaw she saw was outside. His dark eyes were frigid and bitter with the cold within and surrounding him. She repeated herself, cautiously.

“Lucifer?”

“I did ask ‘what’ Maze. Not deaf as you seem to be.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

The violent glare he gives her when she questions him is enough to close her mouth and send her scurrying. Once safely inside her own space across the elevator she settles down, reassuring herself. The human might be…different. But always quiet, mostly mousey and for as long as it took her to allow Lucifer in she’d likely be elderly by the time she found another attachment. Or so the demon had surmised.

Like any other climate where the weather was harsh enough to keep humans inside for months on end, the first days of relief were usually met by a surge of those seeking time on the other side of walls. Here was no different. Mazikeen, like Lucifer could be quite unobtrusive when she wished and found herself surprised and disturbed by what she’d seen over the following month. Incredulous, she’d even waited unseen at the human’s home a few times to make certain. ‘not possible….just…no.’

Canaan had indeed found some tentative attachments, one in which was…peculiarly familiar. The mouse was still more often than not to be found in her vile cement box at all hours, but was also visible more often outside of it. On a bench along the small atrium, on a lunchtime walk nearby, talking companionably before leaving in their separate cars from the parking garage. Greeting with affection at the door of her home…greeting both of them. The demon had no intention of mentioning these serious of strange developments to Lucifer unprompted and after that initial request he had not brought it up. March turned to early April and nothing. She mentally breathed a small sigh of relief…but only a small one. Lucifer’s taxing schedule had been taking its toll on him. Wishing to help relieve some of the work strain, she’d finally begun to come on board with his projects, still not understanding their final purpose. Just wanting to…oh, she didn’t know…try to help him backfill the giant pit he seemed to be sliding deeper into. Attempting to fill his voracious hungers burned him out completely after each long night and he was darker each passing day. Refusing oftentimes to sleep because over the winter he’d finally started to dream. Of falling. Of his own and one other. Of pain. Of loss. Of blood and snow. And starving on vacuity no matter how he glutted on empty effort and empty reflections of affection.

In contrast, Canaan was growing stronger, almost despite herself and nearly completely by accident. After the hurtful night in the middle of February with Lucifer on the street nastily (and apparently gleefully) enmeshed back in the trappings of his old lifestyle she had not seen him. Didn’t want to; certainly not like that. She’d spent that night awake thinking, staring blearily at the book in front of her and it could have been written in Sanskrit for all she got out of the single page she’d never turned. However erroneously, she felt she was being offered a distinct choice in the deep watches of that night: work harder to recover or give in. Completely.

One or the other.

Rend or repair.

But no more stasis.

Canaan actually decided to decide, which was a new tack. George Carlin was right: no such thing as Limbo. At least not permanently. As she put the unread book away in the light of early dawn after that dark night, a slip of paper fell out. Her handwriting; something she’d copied out long ago…

_“"The quote as you give it in a larger context seems to be from W. H. Murray in The Scottish Himalaya Expedition, 1951. There the text apparently goes: 'But when I said that nothing had been done I erred in one important matter. We had definitely committed ourselves and were halfway out of our ruts. We had put down our passage money--booked a sailing to Bombay. This may sound too simple, but is great in consequence. Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, the providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way. I learned a deep respect for one of Goethe's couplets: “Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!'”_

All right, universe. Challenge accepted. Committing to try, really try. Genius? Likely not. Power? Sure. Magic? Yes, she’d seen magic. Why not a little of the homegrown variety?

Several days later began her final week in physical therapy. A conversation there had given her the initial spark of an idea; a very alien one. The injured right leg was much improved, and the physical therapy sadist who’d spent long months of actual blood, a lot of sweat and some near tears throughout the healing process with her remarked on the vibrant scars over her right leg and forearm.

“You know you’re lucky, don’t you?”

“Wow, you’re either a bigger ass or a lot more sarcastic than I gave you credit for. Neither of which would be entirely unexpected.”

“No, no, stop. I mean – and you know this – quite often after extensive injuries the scars form contractures and the tissues heals in adhesions. Which means more surgery, which means more scars and adhesions…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know how that goes. Do some of that for a living, remember?” Canaan laughed a little, some sharp sparks in the sound, but could feel power flow to the new light bulb in her head. Hmm…

“Well anyway, scars look like shit; that leg especially, no offense…”

“None taken.” Sure didn’t look worse than anything else she already had.

“But the scars are supple. Superficial. And the muscle underneath is strong and flexible.”

“Well, I added swimming and steeps in Vitamin E to the regimen you gave me so….”

“Yeah so, my point. You’ll always see these, know you’ve been through this mess…but you’re not impaired physically anymore really, and actually…with the addition of weights and treadmill work, you may be even a little stronger than you were, don’t you think?”

“Maybe…” Light bulb fully lit. Just in a room with a closed door.

Afterwards a random _(was it really?)_ traffic detour due to construction cracked that door open. Unexpectedly finding herself shunted out of the parking garage going the completely opposite direction than she usually took to the highway home, Canaan found herself driving by the little brownstone B &B/café Lucifer had occasionally taken her to. She’d never been back here. Without him it just seemed…wrong, somehow. But evening was coming on, the food was great and her fridge at home was barren. She had two frequent guests to thank for that, although dearth of sustenance was a more than ample reward for what she got in exchange. Pleasure of their company. She decided to swing in and get something to go.

As she went up the flagstone walk, cheered to see some early pansies trying quite hard to be valiantly stoic against the chilly spring wind fluttering their lion faces, Canaan suddenly felt nervous. Why? The likelihood of him being here was practically nil what with his renewed social vigor. As she’d said long ago, they did not run in the same circles.

‘Isn’t that the truth of it?’ Tucking that last thought away, she opened the door, hearing the chime of the bell as she crossed the threshold.

“Well then! Hasn’t it been such a long time! How are you?”

The warm greeting from the two was sweet, and slightly unexpected. The little older couple actually didn’t seem to speak often, and then mostly to Lucifer whenever they’d been in together. Pleasantries exchanged Canaan found a cup of tea appear beside her elbow as she sat at the empty counter with the take-out menu.

“Oh, I didn’t…” she began, then found herself cut off.

“Now dear one, seasons are turning but it’s still quite a chill wind when it gets darker, yes?”

Something oddly familiar about that speech cadence… “True.”

“And sometimes we don’t always know what we need, do we?”

“Perhaps…” Hmm. Odd.

She was left to herself to enjoy her tea as she waited. It wasn’t long before she found herself with a larger bag in hand than one would think three pieces of fried chicken and salad would require, but…goodness, did it smell heavenly.

“Thank you!”

As she turned to go, Canaan heard, “Come back anytime, dear. And bring your friend with you, too. We haven’t seen him in a long time.”

She paused, her hand tightening on the door handle. “Nor have I, really.”

“Oh…sorry to hear that. He’s…special though, isn’t he?” It was like they were speaking right through the flexible barriers she’d built around her feelings for him. And the strangest thing was, talking about him as she had not otherwise was less distressing than she might have thought. Not overwhelmingly bludgeoning, just succinctly sharp. A vaccine of logic. She found herself responding in the same vein.

“Yes. He so is.” As in ‘you have no conception of how ‘special’ he is’, fella.

“So…maybe don’t give up on him? Not yet.”

She sighed. “It’s more he gave up on me.”

“Hmm. Perhaps on himself…which can be a huge obstacle…do you understand?”

Actually, yes she did.

“So that’s when, and how you grow. To overcome it…if it’s worthwhile. Is it?”

Canaan thought maybe ‘yes’. She also thought it was one of the strangest conversations she’d ever had and all things considered, that was saying something. She nodded and smiled her goodbye, reluctant to say anything more to these pleasant but unfamiliarly forward people. Well, a lot of older folks were quite direct. With her history, she’d probably be telepathic at their age if she reached it. But their benignly assertive push let her open the door wider to the idea she’d had at PT.

Not wanting to lose momentum (or her nerve), first thing the next morning Canaan tracked down the ED’s Crisis Management Director.

“Corrine, got a minute?”

“For you Raene, yes. For this terrible excuse for coffee? Not so much.”

Canaan chuckled at the face the CMD was making. She’d always enjoyed her, and respected her work ethic. The patients and families treated in Trauma did not always have optimal outcomes even if survival was achieved. There was a large gradation between living and dying; the whole scale needing appropriate care. Corrine and her team were well-versed in helping these precarious people manage the next steps beyond after Canaan and those like her had done what they could. Quality patient care was a symbiotic exercise and all the diverse staff here knew it and depended upon each other. At least the good ones did.

The CMD must have decided that no amount of expired creamer, neuron-killing artificial sweetener or prayer was going to make the mess in her cup any more palatable so she just looked over the steam at the Trauma Prac. Evaluating what was in front of her, just as Canaan did as a matter of course.

“Okay, Raene, whatcha got?”

“Eval and treatment plan for post-trauma patient.”

“What sort?”

Shit. Where to start with that? Well, as someone once said to her, ‘let’s take it from the top then, shall we?’ “Physical assault with comorbid sexual assault, trauma, self-harm ideation, trauma, subsequent life and relational maladaption throughout. Privacy paramount. Really. Total HIPPA nightmare.”

“Sounds like a really crappy weekend.”

Excellent. Humor. One of the most outstanding healing modalities. “I know, right?”

“Way. Glad I wasn’t at that party. Look, I’ve got a free block from 14:00 to 14:30 today. I can review the case file then…or whatever you happen to have for me. That work?” Appraisal complete.

“Yes, sure. Thanks, Corrine.”

“No problem.” As the CMD watched her walk away, she was fairly certain there would be something more substantial than paperwork waiting in her office later that day. And once a week afterwards for an hour off-site she was correct.

So trending in these divergent directions at about the same speed, both Lucifer and Canaan found themselves at the fulcrum on the same day. In the same place. But without the same knowledge.

On that early April evening in the office Mazikeen’s fears came true: Lucifer asked her what she’d found when he’d remanded her to ‘keep an eye’ on Canaan. Furious himself, but concerned for her after she’d seen him with those people. She’d always known of his history, but as he well knew, considering possibilities and seeing them in front of you were two very different things. Maze had been and still was reluctant as ever to divulge what he might find distressful, but fearful of his anger if he felt she was withholding from him.

“She what? With…who? Whom? Did I hear you correctly?” Elbows on his desk, hands clenched in his hair. Staring at nothing. Ball of ice in his gut. Hot ice, with teeth at that, chewing at him. And he was already starving away.

“Yes, you did. I really don’t know what to say, Lucifer. I was as surprised as you are.”

“Mazikeen, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He looked up to see his demon giving him an are-you-kidding-me-I-was-in-fear-for-my-immortal-life expression.

“Fine. I understand why. Just not how...” He blew out a long breath, pushing his chair back, dropping his hands in his lap and staring straight up. He didn’t even have words for this, and he had words for anything. He might be looking at the ceiling but he was floored. For all the reluctance she’d had, all she wanted to hide…now this?

Addressing the ceiling tiles he said, “Like Gideon.” Lucifer didn’t notice that Maze did not agree with him, lost in his head as he was. “Met him when he was still in the closet and I suppose not even the Devil himself was enough to entertain everything he’d had pent up.”

Maze was desperately hoping that Lucifer would drop the reflection on this. Gideon had been…a potential threat she’d dispatched. Quite effectively. And quite surprising too, really, the considering the difference between these two attachments. The man for all intents and purposes had looked to be Lucifer’s charismatic peer yet it had taken little to be rid of him. This mouse…something else. Now doing something completely unexpected. And was going to be adding to that far sooner than either of the hellions knew.

The elevator chimed in the hall as it always did upon arrival when one of them was not riding it. They exchanged a look of total consternation before Lucifer leaped out of the chair to move behind the only door he could close. His bedroom. “Not **bloody** likely. Not now, not **ever** …not a **word** , you understand me, Maze?”

She simply raised her eyebrows and moved to sit behind the desk, organizing the paperwork he’d ruffled. She had plenty of words in mind, none of which involved her devil’s whereabouts. The knock on the door sounded just as Lucifer closed his, a final warning glare to Maze before he collapsed at his desk there. Seething. Cursing the acoustics which would let him hear everything. Her voice, which he’d not in months.

Maze ignored the noise at the door until it became words. “Unless this is locked, which I expect it isn’t, I’m coming in. Very briefly. I just have…look, if you could refrain from setting me on fire or whatever it is you do I’d really appreciate it. Just got myself back together mostly so…”

Lucifer’s thoughts and those Maze entertained were quite different.

The former: ‘She actually does sound mostly together. Wish I was. They must be good for her _(wish I was)_.’

The latter: ‘I hadn’t thought of setting her on fire, but it’s not a bad idea….’

The door opened.

Canaan was surprised and a little shocked to see Mazikeen behind the desk and no Lucifer.

Mazikeen was surprised and a little shocked to see two packages in her hands and no fear.

Realizing she was quite out of her league Canaan felt no need to kowtow. If this facially bipolar…demon (yeshua **christ** onagodno **gosh** damncracker)…was going to destroy her she sure didn’t plan to kneel for it.

“Where is he?”

Maze smiled. A humanoid one. So far. “You’re not allowed to care where he may be.”

Canaan didn’t smile, humanoid or otherwise. “Someone should learn the distinction between allowance and preference”.

“Regardless of what you may think of me or my vocabulary, human, he’s not here.” The ‘for you’ was implied and Canaan heard it.

Fine then. Whether she saw him or not, it didn’t change why she’d come. It just changed what she thought she might leave with. A little closure, maybe. Corrine’s idea, though having NO said idea with whom Canaan was seeking this closure. She had a feeling that disclosure would go right beyond therapy to heavy medication and very snuggly long sleeved canvas shirts. With buckles. She was quiet for a moment, trying to think of how to get through this most effectively. The demon’s next questions barely landed on her periphery and they were answered tersely.

“What have you got there?”

“Nothing for **you**. But if you would be certain he gets them, I…I **would** be appreciative. Not as if you care, but…I still would. However now it’s out of my hands. Literally.” Canaan set the packages on the couch in front of the desk. Lucifer, closed behind his door was curious despite himself.

Mazikeen continued. “I’m surprised to see you’ve even made time to come by here…you’ve seemed busy lately.” Warning her off.

Canaan shrugged, missing the tone as each brief encounter with the demon had always been antagonistic. Besides, she was always busy.

“Did your consorts let you out? Or are they the pets?” Pointed questions from the mouth with the pointed canines.

“Look here. I’m actually trying to think of something to say, to you for him that you WILL actually say **for** me, **to** him. You being bizarre is messing with my train of thought so…perhaps you could just lend me a pen and paper and I’ll make quick work of this for both of us?”

Maze stared. Deflection by logic was not a defense she was familiar with. Well, she’d give this human a ‘less bizarre’ example, and let Lucifer untangle himself from her once and for all by hearing it.

“I’ll be more clear then, so your tiny human mind can understand me.”

“That would be terrific, thanks. Start anytime.”

The demon glowered. “How did it take you to move past him? Days? A whole week?”

“Thought you were going to be more clear? Still waiting on that.” Canaan was baffled.

Mazikeen stood up, leaning forward over the desk, long nails tapping. “He never thought you were unintelligent. I can’t see why.”

“Well, I never thought I’d see half of someone’s face peel off outside of my trauma bay, so I suppose we’ve all got our mysteries. But really, could you get to it?” Canaan stopped sparring here. It wasn’t why she came. “Look, Mazikeen. You’ve apparently got something to say, and I know I do, and we both know you could probably fling me out of this window without too much trouble **SO** , IN THE INTEREST OF EXPEDIENCY **COULD YOU JUST PLEASE MAKE YOUR FUCKING POINT** before I save you the trouble and leap myself out of sheer irritation?”

Two mouths dropped in two different rooms and one jaw clenched, hazel eyes above it flashing.

The demon collected herself. Either the human had no memory of the etiology of her accident or she was nearly as vicious as they could be in their punishment.

“Fine. In simple terms then because I can assure you should I so choose to end you I’d not like the pleasure removed from me. How long was your ‘mourning period’ after Lucifer? How long before you forgot him and bedded another, or two? Or…really it’s been a surprise all around so…perhaps there are more?” She wanted Lucifer to hear the human’s response. Needed him to so he’d stop torturing himself over it. Just be angry, not hurt. Anger she could manage; not the other.

Unfortunately the only response she got was a blank stare. And not the blank stare of being caught – of confusion. Then: “What are you talking about? He’s the one who left me with no explanation.”

“Please. He saw you with another. I’ve seen you with more than one.”

Canaan racked what was left of her scrambled brains, trying to understand this…thing in front of her. This ‘guardian’ of his saying such inexplicable words. The demon continued.

“At your work. At your home. Do NOT lie.”

Finally, a light dawned and Canaan started laughing. Not a laugh of fear, but of hilarity of the absolute ridiculousness of the situation. “You said ‘he saw me’.” Canaan knew of only one incident.

Maze nodded sharply. Lucifer had eventually told her about the first night he was back.

“He saw me with a friend.”

In his room, Lucifer gritted his teeth. That’s what she had called **him**.

“My friend, Dale.”

He stopped gritting, thinking the name sounded familiar.

“Dale, my FRIEND. My **GAY** friend, Dale. My GAY friend Dale who met his **CLOSETED GAY** BOYFRIEND through me. James was one of my visiting nurses after I got hurt and **LUCIFER** took off. Guess I was too boring after all. Or too much to bother with. I’ve  no idea since he just ended us with NO explanation. He’s not the only one who got an eyeful that night, so both **YOU** and **HE** can just **FUCK OFF** or FUCK each other and everyone else you run into because I am **DONE**.”

She was furious. Maze was appalled. Lucifer was sick.

Rolling her eyes to the ceiling and taking a deep breath, Canaan brought her voice and her gaze back under tight control. “I am done, Mazikeen. And that’s why I’m here. These were for him.” With a sweep of her hand she indicated the two small packages.

“I’ve had them for a while, but they do not belong to me and I do not want them in my house any longer. You can discard them, or he can...it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” With that she turned on her heel and began to make her way to the door.

Pausing. Softening. But only a little.

“No. Wait. One more thing…one more thing you probably won’t tell him anyway, but it’s still true. Nothing happening now negates before.” The human looked over, her eyes strangely happy. “Tell him, ‘thank you’. For the times that were good. I do mean that.” And with that she left, closing the door as she did.

Maze stood for a moment behind the desk. Stilled in thought and motion. After a few minutes she heard the door at the back of the room open, and Lucifer walked slowly towards her, slowing when he saw the small parcels on his couch.

“What are they?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say. She did say they were for you, and that she didn’t want them anymore.” Maze knew he had heard everything, but allowed him the space to let her think he hadn’t. They sat together on the couch, Maze between the Devil and his gifts.

“Open them for me?” He leaned forward, elbows on knees and head in his hands.

“Explosives, most likely. Or excrement.” Maze groused, but picked up the oblong one. It was quite heavy. Lucifer heard her unwrap the thick brown paper. Then nothing. Not looking up he asked what it was.

“See for yourself. A broken vase. And this.”

He opened his eyes as Maze handed them over. A small piece of paper with a note. Her writing – he’d never seen it other than signature – like her: angled, sharp points, some unexpected curling grace. ‘Don’t think you ‘do Christmas’, nor do I but still. Something little trinkets for the one who can have everything. We can stick a candle in some chocolate cake or a grilled cheese and sing ‘happy birthday’ for your brother if you like.’ He almost laughed.

And not a broken vase…well, yes but no. It was beautiful. A tall, rectangular shape of midnight blue and ivory swirls seamed with silver threads. Like the night sky in transition. It was gorgeous and it suited him perfectly. Or it would have. Seeing his expression Maze asked what it was.

His voice was soft in reply to his demon. Not soft with ash. With appreciation. “It’s a Kintsukuroi. That is the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and recognizing that the finished piece is more beautiful for having been broken.” He was quiet, holding it for minute and stroking the seams before placing it on the coffee table.

“The other if you would, Maze.” Lucifer heard her unwrap more heavy butcher’s paper as he looked at the art in front of him. His demon remained quiet and he simply thought she was waiting for him.

“Well?”

No response. He looked over at her. She held a small copper frame in her hands, staring at it with the strangest expression.

“Yes?”

“It’s…you.”

What?

He took the frame from her, and looked at what had struck his demon. The small watercolor could almost have been an abstract but wasn’t. It was his hot spring canyon at sunrise instead of sunset, the abalone colors saturating the sky and water. And more than that. There was a dark figure at the end of the dock, facing east and looking up at the new sun. And furling from the figure’s back: wings. Layers upon layers, overlapping the view without overpowering it. Barely visible, but glowing with all the color and light of the sunrise, blending with the scenery like his alteration of the energy surrounding them that day. She’d understood what he'd been trying to show her. At the bottom, a small signature. An illegible one.

**This was how she’d seen him.**

And he’d destroyed that.

They were both silent for a time. When Lucifer finally spoke his voice was dead. “No Mazikeen, you’re wrong. That’s not me. Not anymore.”

He rose. “I’m going up north to the other house. I will not, for any reason, be disturbed, hear?” Without waiting for her to reply he walked out the door, not bothering to close it behind him.


	40. Sharp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short description of physical injury at end. And even though this story had WAY gotten out of hand, I appreciate those who’ve come along the ride with me :-) Like the placards of dissolution say, “The End is Near” now.

[ - ]

“I’ve had enough.”

Lucifer stalked the shoreline, speaking intently to the small waves crashing at his feet. Not daring to look up at the stars yet. Not trusting himself. Hating that.

“It’s enough, hear? More than.”

Collapsing to a sit on the damp, cold sand, looking up at the night sky.

“I don’t understand. You don’t speak to me. Not for so long. You don’t…allow me to keep anything I need, or think I do.”

He dug his feet into the chill grit.

“I’ve tried. Sinner or saint, it’s the same response. Nothing at all.”

And still nothing...

“I can’t leave. I can’t die. Both thanks to you. I just…can’t. Can’t anything. Not anymore.”

Folding his arms over his knees and resting his chin on his crossed wrists. Watching the growing turbulence of the sea. “I’m done. Reached my limit. And I was supposed to limitless. Wasn’t I? I can’t remember…you took that, too.”

The only sound, the only response he heard was the waves. The respiration of this world. Giving him nothing he could use for emptiness in his own lungs.

“What am I good for then? What am I for? You made me…then abandoned me…like the rest did. Like I did her. And if she feels for me as I know I do…that anger and disgust…I can never forgive that of you.”

He buried his face in his arms. Waiting. Like he always did. Like he always had. For ever so long. Always wanting more. Salt tang in the air, rush of the water. Silence of the deep, dark heavens spanning overhead.

He rose. Glaring. “Break me then. But you forget…forget what you have made of me. What I can do. See if I don’t do it first.”

The night kept watch over his long stance on the sand, and in the warmth of the morning he went back to the house having his answer. Silent. Working. Not knowing what else to do. For that day, and the one after and the weeks after and then months after that. Refusing to speak or be seen. He kept in periodic electronic contact with Maze for his projects, grateful that his demon was finally helping him with personal ends of them. Something, some things good coming of these, but after a time change was running itself and did not require his overt interference.

Is that what God did? Set up the creations and then abandon them? So easy. Such cowardice. He’d expected better. He’d expected a lot of things.

He could feel his brothers asking after him in his head. First Mena then Raphael. Then others. He rebuffed the first two, ignoring the rest as they’d done to him. Not wanting to be reminded of the last time they’d all been together. Him powerless. Causing pain. Needing help yet again. Even Maze was getting more insistent, though he’d warned her off… Apparently not well enough.

She’d appeared early one afternoon, shocked at the change in him. “Lucifer, what…?”

Get out.

No, he remembered. He needed to say it aloud for her to hear.

“Get out, Maze. I warned you.”

“But…”

He’d flared, sending her spinning away. Collapsing back into the desk in his room. Quiet…at least it was quiet outside his head.

It was most definitely NOT quiet at the demon’s next destination. Canaan left work early that midsummer evening to find an unwelcome guest sitting on the hood of her car in the parking garage, just as Lucifer had once done. The human approached slowly; but not fearful. How could one be frightened of an agent of sheer annihilation? It would be like worrying about a supernova. What would be the point – it would either destroy you or it wouldn’t. No, she was incredulous.

“What in the actual **hell** do you think you’re doing? And I mean that in ALL senses.”

The demon’s reply was terse. “Get in.”

“Oh, I intend to. Without the hood ornament. Get **OFF**.”

Mazikeen’s head snapped around and her amber eyes narrowed, taking the woman in. No limp now. No appearance of weakness in the crossed arms and baleful glare from her hazel eyes. Her chin was dropped and she stared pure venom, almost like Lucifer did when provoked. It was amusing….that little trait they had in common. Maze was betting on her stubbornness and curiosity as well.

“I said, ‘get in’. You and I have someplace to go.”

“I heard you. Not deaf. But unless you plan to manhandle me in there and don’t for a second think I’ll let you do that with me in one piece…you’d better start talking. No…” holding one palm up. “You’re already yapping. Try making some damn sense. RIGHT now.”

The demon grinned. Assertive. Good. She’d need it, and so would he.

Mazikeen slid off the car quickly, again pleased to see the human didn’t flinch. They both well knew that she’d be easy prey if the demon so chose, but again – no fear. Strength in the face of adversity and clearly overwhelming odds was something she respected so Maze maybe liked her…a little. She might like her more depending upon what the answers to the next questions were.

“Are you a liar?” Sizing her up.

“I reveal and conceal as it suits me.”

All right then. That was useful truth. The human got to live to answer another question. “Did you mean what you said? When you told me you did not regret good moments with him?”

“I do.”

The reply was level and quick…but not too rapid, either. Not facetious. Mazikeen took careful notice of the tense she’d used as well. Good. **Very** good….

“Then get in your car and let’s move. Don’t think we’ve a lot a lot of time to waste, human.”

“To…?"

“Someplace you haven’t been.” She walked around the passenger side and waited for Canaan to unlock it. Not as if she could not enter herself by easy force…just….this was already precarious and needed to be accomplished well.

“Good thing you’ve narrowed it down. Thanks. Staying at least on the same quantum plane are we?” Canaan sighed as she unlocked the doors, threw her bag in the back and she and the demon slid in side by side. Mazikeen shot her an appraising sideways look. So, Lucifer had divulged some secrets…and the human had understood at least well enough to make conversation about it. Interesting. It explained the art a bit more.

“Get on the highway. Take the second exit going north up the coast.”

Canaan felt a chill strike her in the heat of the evening sun. “How far north?”

Maze turned and looked at her fully. “Far. But not as far as you’re thinking.”

The car was silent for the next two and a half hours.

Surprising considering her visitor’s identity and to whom said visitor was likely taking her (and **why**? why **now** after so long?), Canaan was more disturbed by the direction they were taking. This was…old territory. And even with Corrine, not all of her old ‘territory’ had been deeply explored yet. Physical therapy had taught her respect for the length of a healing process. Respect for the space between either ‘100% ignore or 100% restore’ she’d always held previously. Respect for the fact that too much too soon would only result in greater injury.

Mazikeen was reflecting as well. The human Canaan was not perfect, not flawless, but tried. To survive hardship old and newer, to meet minds with her devil, though she still found this almost laughable. He was…well, **what** he was. And she was  not. But she still tried. If the demon rejected her potential to help here…she, Mazikeen, would be just as she felt Mena had been long ago to her. Rejecting the notion that change can happen. And change, as she knew so well personally now…was the only constant.

And she’d never seen Lucifer like this. And she would do **anything** , with nearly anyone to protect him. From others of course…but also from himself.

“Turn off here.”

Canaan followed the demon’s first direction, then her others, steering accordingly. The improbable duo wound down smaller roads along the coastline, passing through a little town and then an empty, narrow stretch of sloping bluff. They paused between two stone pillars holding the same sort of intricate iron gates between them as Canaan had seen at Lucifer’s mountain house. No nameplate here and these gates were tightly closed, a chain across them with a formidable lock.

“Warm welcome.” It was the first thing the human had said in hours. She had been relieved not to go much further north…but now found herself focusing on the uncertainty at hand.

“It won’t be.” Mazikeen wondered indeed how cold it would get. She raised a hand and tilted her palm at the gates. For a few minutes nothing happened and she concentrated harder. Finally, the lock cracked and the weight of it pulled the chains down on one side. Opening her fingers, the gates swung open as if under heavy labor.

“Drive through. Stop under the garage overhang.”

Mazikeen did not know where Lucifer was in the house...only that she could feel him here still. She did NOT want him to see what car had arrived, nor the human…not yet. Not until she’d gotten a better assessment of him than the brief scrape earlier in the day. Canaan did as she asked and followed her quietly up the stairs, over a stone porch and into the house. Like his other, it was beautiful…set perfectly in its environment, but even though the summer evening was warm and welcoming…the house was not. She could feel cold here…such cold. Mazikeen slipped silently through the dimness and she followed the same way, watching the wariness in the demon. Being apprehensive about that…but strangely, not about anything else. Whatever came, she felt ready. Or ready enough.

She was wrong.

Mazikeen had paused before a closed set of double doors at the side of the house. Lucifer’s personal rooms were behind here and this was where she’d seen him earlier. She turned to the human with a finger to her lips and then flattened her palm out as she opened one door. Clear message: ‘be still and wait’. However…

What she heard…oh no…

“How could you **not** understand me, demon mine? **Get out!** Or feel **all** the wrath your Lord has to offer! Your final warning, Mazikeen!”

Canaan had started moving at the first words, following unbidden after the demon. That voice. That was his…but yet wasn’t. So bleak… so terribly changed. In such pain. And no matter their history, her own hurts over it…pain in others is what her self-assigned role was to assuage. And after all, it was him…

She walked directly into the path of the Lord of Hell’s last warning for his disobeying demon. Mazikeen was just in front of her, against the wall looking first at Canaan, then in horror over at Lucifer rising behind the desk.

His hand coming down as the human’s rose.

His hand coming down from where he had thrown a heavy crystal piece from his table at Mazikeen. Intending to miss her, and he had, but wanting her to be truly frightened of his force here. And she was…but not for the reasons he’d thought.

Heavy crystal shards embedded in the wall began to fall, joining the stardust shatter of others on the floor. Light winked and flashed off them as they dropped. But not all of them. Some were ruby-tinged, slick with crimson light…a mockery of his eyes as they fell. As he had. But apparently not far enough yet.

Drops of blood fell, too. More than drops.

Like rain.

Raene.

He saw Canaan Raene standing next to his demon with her hand covering the right side of her neck, blood flowing from underneath it. Staining her clothes like her loss on top of all else had stained him.

He’d dared his father to break him.

This was his answer.


	41. Blood and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: explicit description of injury and pretty gritty physical intimacy. I’d ask of the reader to consider the intended purpose (for both characters). Lucifer here is about as broken down as he’s ever let himself get, kept alone and isolated in mind and body. And he’s just thrown the last straw on his own camel’s back (said straw happening to be a large piece of crystal). Canaan’s character, on the other hand, is stronger now than she’d been…though still way the hell (*snort*) out of her league. And in large part, because of him. Q: How do you reach the one who may be beyond you, beyond words? A: In the only manner they can listen.

[ - ]

_“…it’s a rare chance you’re holding in your human hands…”_

Memory’s winter knell. Lucifer’s own words but as if spoken through him, not from him. These words leaping into her head clear as the sky was on the day he’d said them.  
She’d been wrong, she realized. Feeling indeed might save someone, sometimes, if one were strong enough to back it up with action. She’d always been able to ‘do action’…and now she could do feeling as well.

But first, a little personal housekeeping in high order.

She held her free hand out to where Lucifer had half-risen behind the desk. “Stop.” His jaw was unhinged in a soundless wail, silver streaks of tears etching down his face _(how changed he was)._ She’d seen him upset, enraged even, yes, but she’d never seen him cry _(oh, beautiful broken one. please stop)._

“Mazikeen. Grab my bag and direct me to a sink with mirror. Do it now.” Her words were not harsh, just quietly matter-of-fact. Lucifer was frozen in place, eyes now locked down to the desk as the demon, horrified, swept the human out of the room and down the hallway.

In front of the mirror Canaan soaked a hand towel with water and asked for her bag to be opened.

“There will be a thick black pocket belt with three zippers. Open the outer two.”

The demon was stunned into slow compliance, still aghast at what happened…this was so not what she had intended…

“Mazikeen. Focus. Open that little bottle of betadine and pour it over this towel in my hand.”

She looked up, Canaan’s eyes meeting hers in the mirror, bloody rivulets still streaming from under her hand.

“Listen, I’m sure it’s fine, really. If there’s no ‘audible bleeding’ it means nothing major got hit but it’ll be sloppy until I can see what I’m dealing with. We bleed; it happens.” Little quirked smile. “I’ll need you to hand me **what** I ask for, **when** I ask for it, okay?’

Plenty of calm ice. Best code-report-to-frantic-neophyte voice.

Maze maybe did like her a little more.

“Okay, here we go.” Canaan took her hand away, giving herself a quick glance before applying the wet towel.  
“Adsons – silver tweezers – the ones without the teeth. WithOUT, now.” She’d seen several glints with a different wet shine: glass. Alternating quickly between pressure and reassessment as she removed small shards and dropped them clinking in the sink – nothing too bad. Just messy. Seen worse. Had worse certainly. Canaan smiled to herself. Said THAT before often enough.

  
“Two more towels – small ones. Or a washcloth – **no** , not that!” Canaan stopped Maze with a near laugh which caused a serious of minor gushes as Maze tried to haul a large bath sheet hooked on the back of the door. “Killing me here…or was that your intent?”

Maze stared…it wasn’t anymore. Hadn’t been for a while.

“You’d be a complete failure in my job. No sense of humor. Total party foul.”

Maze kept staring.

Canaan soaked the more appropriately-sized cloths she was handed. “Okay…repair is clearly not your arena so listen, one more thing. Two, actually. In the third section are several packets of suture. Rip open two of the orange – orange, dammit, NOT purple –with the number 4 on and take two little plier looking things and clamp them on the end of the little needles near where the threads go in. The curves should face up at an angle when you lay them flat. Now toothed tweezers. Then scissors out – the small, straight ones. Now the thing that looks like a tiny purple glowstick. Right, okay…thank you.” Watching as the demon lined up the instruments on the sink edge.

“Now listen, I’m fine. Just some minor stuff to patch and glue. Second thing: I’ll be a few minutes then I’ll be in. Go to him.”

Hazel met amber in the mirror, a flat lock.

“Go. We both know I’m not the patient here.”

Maze left the room, watching in the mirror for a moment as the human and her tools pinched her skin together over the largest gash, letting her wrist dip easily to start the stitch. No flinch. Canaan caught her eye and her brows lowered. “Move your demonically inexplicable ass down that hallway. Do it now.” Work voice, not woman voice.

Said demon would have smiled if she wasn’t so concerned with what might be waiting back in the other room. She tapped lightly on the doorframe…nothing. Peering around the corner, she saw Lucifer staring out into the late evening glow through the large window behind his desk, barely teetering on the edge of it in a back-breaking slump. She winced at the sight, and walked quickly to his side.

“Lucifer, I – “

“Mazikeen…how could you…what did you do… _what did you **make me** do_….?”

The voice was soft, but sounded like it was being dragged over the broken glass under her feet.

“Lucifer, she’s all right. Just…getting cleaned up. She’ll be right here.”

“….what did I do, Mazikeen….?”

It was like he hadn’t heard her. Or didn’t want to. Couldn’t?

“Lucifer,”

“Get out.”

“No, you don’t understand…”

“No, YOU don’t. Get. Out.” It was a somber voice, cold and terrible. Husked hollow with the echoes of sooted ash and dry bone. Of loss. Not the voice of Heaven’s beloved lost son. Not Lucifer. It was the voice of the fallen archangel, Lord of Hell.

That voice she obeyed without question.

As Maze turned to leave, she saw Canaan come in, collar unbuttoned and blood-soaked, but skin clean although discolored with the betadine. Small puckers of clear suture on a few spots. Sheen of purple gloss. Amber met hazel and at the demon’s mouth tensed in a flat line, Canaan’s response was a nod. The two brushed knuckles quickly as they passed: hand off of care.

Canaan spoke as she approached, gentle but firm. Trauma triage.

“Lucifer.”

Nothing. Shock victim here.

“Look at me.” He did not turn.

“Lucifer.” She saw a slight wince as she said his name again. There he was. Here we go. “Look at me.” Noncompliant.

Canaan walked in front of him. His head was down, eyes tightly closed, leaning slightly back on the desk with hands in a white-knuckled grip on the edge. So changed…longer hair, loose, unkempt waves falling down his neck. Longer beard too, still close to his strong jaw but thicker, wild. Thin, pilled sweater over angles of bone. Faded jeans…she didn’t even realize he knew that denim existed.

Fear and silence were his greetings.

She stepped closer, almost touching him.

“Lucifer. Watch me.”

His eyes barely cracked. Shut again quickly. Then she knew – it was the blood. He was reacting to the crimson stain on her clothes because it meant pain he’d caused. Well, sure fix for that.

She’d unbuttoned her collar to throw the few quick stitches in and started on the rest, discarding the mess of clothing. Talking softly to him, telling him what she was doing, what they were going to do. Finally some words in response.

“You can’t….”

“I can. I am. We are.” In this universe or any other, there is no more galvanizing language than words like these. They are the beginnings of everything that is possible.

She said his name again, and he had to listen…had to open his eyes as she’d asked. Following that strange, strange pull.

She stood before him. Bare. Changed. Skin scarred with the shimmer of the abalone sky lacings from that winter sunset. Scars both old and new, but still standing. Still strong. Healed wounds of glossy flesh shining in the refractory light of the ocean’s late evening like the threads of Kintsukuroi’s precious metals. New ones small. Invisible ones in her mind mostly healed as well. She was strong now because he’d been so for her when she could not for herself, she said. And now she was coming for him, she said. It would be all right, she said. He shut his eyes again _(no, no…I can’t…you don’t understand… **I can’t** …)._

Even though he hadn’t spoken aloud he heard her, softly. “You can. I am. We are.” And then he felt her move against him, leaning naked into the cage of his body and sliding her arms up his back. Over his scars under the thin material (I hurt there…how I hurt everywhere…). With his head down, her shoulder was under his rough jaw, old wounds on one side, new on the other _(nowhere safe, the blood, broken body…all I can do is break…myself and others…)_. But no…she was here with him, standing to him, talking softly to him, pressing closer.

_(…help me…)_

Scenting the blood and pain of life on her. Healing on her. Opening his cold mouth to taste salted fire on her skin. Feeling the strong pulse of that blood coursing under his tongue. Matching his.

She was a match for him.

Inhumanly fast his clothes were gone, both tearing restrictions away to free him. Falling back against the desk, crushing skin against skin, hardly believing she was here. Real. She felt the needful power of him teeming within the embrace, in the rigid heat pressing against her belly and the uneven catch in his breathing. He’d ached for so long, far longer than she’d known him. So much worse of late… body and spirit adrift in a mind-numbing haze and she knew the relief coming was going to hurt almost as much as that pain. At first. The comfort she’d provide was not going to be gentle, but stark as he was now. She climbed quickly, feeling the tremors vibrating through his body as she moved astride his legs. One hand balancing herself on his shoulder, the other guiding. Wanting him safe inside her, them intimately together before…

….before she clawed her hands over his scars as she sank down, enveloping him. Shattering his shell. Detonating all his controls away as he roared in the searing pain and starving joy of complete release from the adhesions of his fearful constructs. Breaking him raw to build new. Blood seeping where she’d torn his body as she’d torn his spirit by turning her back the night she first saw his eyes. Reeling at the power she’d loosed, and the aquamarine flare of her own igniting to protect them as his whiplashed free. He gripped her hard, shaking, dark head buried in her neck. Both of them knowing it was only the first breach of the looming collapse. He spoke simple phrases and it was the first voice of the fallen she heard, ragged and terrible.

“You can’t know what I am. Wholly. What vast appetites I have. With so few outlets in this form.” Raking her body with his fingertips: anxious promises of pleasure and pain. **“I NEED**. Are you certain…?”

She held his face in both hands, watching the crimson fire flickering in his eyes. Scenting ash. Feeling cryptic heat. Spellbound but secure in herself.

“I want **you**.” And she meant it. Meant all of him: the complete miracle and tragedy of Lucifer Morningstar. As much as she could take.

He closed those heartrending eyes in relief in her acceptance. Everything happened so quickly after…first throwing them forward toward the window, pinning her as she twined her legs around his waist, their fingers clenched together in bloodless grip. Her body stretched by his against the cool glass, veiled flame against and within her; their arms spread in dual phoenix wings.

A tableau of strong limbs and fanned hair writhing under him on the floor. Her nails dug in deeply to his skin, just to keep purchase as the waves of his body threatened to drown them both.

Supporting her impaled flight over him on the desk, his grip taloned on her arc and twist of litheness as she cried out, head thrown back, enraptured.

Suckling at her; hard mouth against soft breasts. Tongue rolling against the stiff buds as he leaned in, pulling her down to sit before him. Down on his knees as he held her open on the chair. Slaking his thirst, the lonely parch in him quenching as he devoured. Feeling the scalding spills over his hand as he pistoned himself ruthlessly, enflamed by her savor and the softness on his tongue.

Rising to be consumed by her relentless mouth as he stood before her, hands knotted through tangles of hair, screaming ecstasy as he felt her rhythmic pull.

Long fingers scrabbling down her back, bright ribboned trails leading to her hips as she pressed off the wall: bent before him with arms locked, back arched and head lowered. Not in submission; in reception. Barely letting them finish before she was rising to turn against him, climbing, drawing him in again with her body and mouth, hands raking through his hair, pulling to expose his neck. White teeth blooded, savagely marking his throat and chest as he crashed against her, impossibly hard ache finding sanctuary within her supple yield.

Each climax stronger than the last and only serving to fuel a fire they couldn’t possibly extinguish. It would have to burn itself out, leaving only charred ash of them after. The night passed as they raged on, darkness the cover for the coolness of peace that was finally rolling in as fog over the heaving ocean was outside.

The coals of ferocious passion subsiding to glow as they entwined on the deep plushness of the soft rug beneath them. She’d brought him back the same way he’d reached past her walls of logic and fear…with truth in presence and the silent language of spirit speaking through their bodies. They lay beside each other, face to face, Canaan’s leg over his hip and Lucifer’s hand under her thigh. Their soft kiss nearly as deep as they were joined lower. They moved gently together now, each slow stroke of his matched equally by her press. This last build as long and complete as a tide rising, peaking in a soft crash and washing them fully clean of any pain as it receded. Healing for the first sharp shatters she’d dealt required to breach through his ancient hurts. The light of dawn breaking through the glass bathed the remnants of them on the floor, and the luster of the MorningStar shone through the messy tangle of human mercy and attachment as darkness began to fade from him as well. Replacing it was something new…a gentle hum of music. Faint still, but such an incalculable relief from the discordant jangle he’d been tortured with for eons and only possible now because of the quiet following it. The silence of reflection he’d chosen for himself in seeking peace. He could do nothing more for the moment other than lay still in sheer appreciation of what he’d been given…and thought perhaps the music seemed a little closer. Perchance it was…some of it channeled through the mortal body furled with his. Lucifer nuzzled her forehead, his first real smile in months curling his mouth as he felt the happy, sated purr of Canaan’s hum on his chest. Yes, this was beautiful music.

He kissed her, fingertips stroking a soft cheek. Entwined in their knot: she held him within still and the jumble of bodies, limbs and long hair was the most peaceful snare he could wish for. Not wanting it to end, he could only half-heartedly bark, “Go away!” to the tentative knock and query of Maze at the inner door.

“ **No!** Come back bringing food! And coffee…” was the weak plaint in his ear.

It amused them to hear the responsive laughter from the other side of the door…barely a trace of either sinister or cynicism in it as she left.

“Let’s go get washed up a bit, yeah? And drink about 18 liters of water. Each.”

A discontented fuss and a little poke in response. “Tired. Five more minutes.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I think you might need more recovery time than that, love. C’mon. I’ve got you.” Gently disentangling them he stood, lifting her with him to walk through the doors outside. Needing to feel the brightening air on his skin. The playful reflections of the morning sun and shadow on the surface of the little pool cheerfully greeted them. She felt nearly weightless against him as he leaned to adjust the water and then turned to sit under the rinse shower with her in his lap. It was hard to believe she’d withstood him; in the early morning light she felt so fragile as he held her.

And looked it.

She kept her eyes closed as Lucifer washed her, noting the dark circles underneath chestnut lashes contrasting with the paleness of her face. Mouth crimson and swollen. Faint bruises blossoming on her skin, lurid under the stitches. Rings of bites chaining from her shoulders to hands where he’d needed to taste her. Legs still trembling as he stood them up to rinse off. Maze arrived back just as he was wrapping her in a bath sheet and leading them toward an oversized chaise. Despite being hungry and enticed by the scent of the coffee she could barely sip and eat more than a few bites before she lay back against his chest, dozing as the two hellions talked through their reconciliation. Mazikeen took in the state of the sleepy human body flung possessively around that of her master.

“Lucifer. What have you done?”

“Shush. My idea. I’m fine.” Short phrases accompanied by a rude gesture were all Canaan could manage before her eyes closed again almost of their own accord.

The demon had to laugh in admiration at the spirit, if not the delivery of the human’s objection. She watched Lucifer as he resettled her a little higher, planting a kiss on her forehead and brushing wet hair away from her eyes. Good care here, and she was pleased to see it.

“You should be tired as well, playing at mortality as you’ve been.”

“And yet, I’m not…”

He wasn’t. He fairly glowed, skin pristine, eyes light. He looked at his longtime companion.

“What’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know, my lord. **I** don’t know. I **do** know someone that may…”

“I’m sure.” A small smile. “Ask him here, if you wish…as if he could ever be far from you.”

“He’ll be bringing a friend. It might be disturbing to her. She hasn’t seen him since **that** day.”

“No. It’ll be all right. They have something…so strange together.”

Mazikeen tightened her mouth against the grin trying to break through. “So I’ve heard. This one soothes the savage beast, does she?”

He curled his hand around Canaan’s fingers, bringing them to his mouth. Watching her as she slept against him. “Yes. She does indeed. I don’t understand…”

Strangely enough, Maze thought she did. Canaan wasn’t simply a human being to him any more than **she** was simply a demon to Mena. Not now. Her long, turbulent history and willingness to engage with Amenadiel – an angel – had fired the coffers of change she’d always been capable of; just hadn’t had the environment to explore in. Mena had initially confronted her with duty, protective power and willingness to risk conflict: they shared these traits, but their pathways to these ends were vastly different. It took being repeatedly exposed to the unconditional love of the angel to foster the other possibilities within herself. The commonalities for Lucifer and Canaan were pain of loss and subsequent powerlessness, distorting the potential for creative affection in their natures into something dark. Hiding the raw vulnerability they were both loathe to risk after their experiences of grief. It had twisted them differently. He’d been initially created for expression of joy and love…and been shunted into orchestration of pain. It took meeting someone who also lost everything (and felt responsible for that) willing to begin the hard work of recovering. Someone who had chosen a profession where hurt was required for the healing of serious injury. Someone possessing power to brace him although she was as yet unaware of possessing it. And the proximity of Lucifer himself pulling it from within her. Fostering in her the grace that helped them both. He drew her out from where she’d hidden in a living death, and she calmed the frivolous energy and impotent rages he thought were his only recourses.

Mazikeen had wanted to drive her insane, drive her away as she thought she’d have run sooner, abandoning Lucifer as he’d been before. She’d also thought loss of any mortal he became attached to would someday devastate him when their lives ended. Canaan saying ‘thank you’ to her when giving his gifts – her spoken appreciation for the moments if not forever, began to change her perspective. If a ‘mere human’ could think this...even if not in all ways...surely he might.

Maze had learned so much, and had Mena to thank for fostering the ability to understand it. She had herself to thank for the strength to endure the process. Learned enough to surmise what was coming for Lucifer, though it wasn’t her place to say everything…just what he needed to figure things out on his own.

Maze stood, walking over to his other side. Taking the hand he extended to her.

  
“My dearest Mazie, beautiful Mazikeen… **thank** you, ever so. You can’t know…”

She smiled at him, the sharp white teeth of his most formidable weapon, best friend and ageless companion glistening in an expression he’d never seen on her before: true contentment. His brother did make her happy, and she deserved that. Speaking of….Lucifer opened his mouth to ask again about him but was stopped by her look and words.

“Let her sleep. And you should as well…you’re not as used to this yet as you might feel. We’ll come by later.”

Lucifer smirked. “Is that the royal ‘we’, then?”

Mazikeen eyed him right back, grinning. “Yes. It is. Oh…one other thing…” From behind her back she drew out a small, gloriously patinaed copper box with one burnished amber spot. A box heavy for its size. A subtle puzzle. “Give this to her when you think she’s ready…and when you are for what she’ll tell you.” Walking away as he shut his eyes. Hearing the pleasant timber in his voice as the words, “thank you” trailed after her.

She’d miss him so when he left.


	42. Polishing a Three-Sided Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to put some framing pieces around the puzzles…

[ - ]

"Hey there, sleepy one."

She heard the whisper as if from far away, carried on the warmth of the soft breeze and leafy flicker of sun and shadow she held dimly placid awareness of behind her closed lids.

"Hmph." She kept her eyes closed, but stretched an arm out beside her, tucking her nose down where the soft terry of the large bath sheet was bunched up around her shoulder. She was enjoying her woolly fugue and didn't want to be disturbed yet.

"Hey now." Louder voice, with a smile in it. Clinking nearby. "Wakey wakey, got guests coming and you're in no state….though you do look delicious." She pried one eye open to see Lucifer sitting beside her on the chaise, feet on the ground and half-turned away as he sorted something out on a side table. "Besides, you've not eaten anything decent for quite some time and if memory serves that's a dangerous predicament. Might knaw my arm off, or worse."

Canaan was suddenly aware that she was sore and starving, but the image beside her was certainly as satisfying as any banquet. Strong shoulders working under a crisp blue shirt. He turned to look at her, smiling. Looking more familiar. A little gaunt, a little hollow-eyed still, but groomed, amused. Shorter hair again, still untamed in loose waves. Pared down stubble, collar unbuttoned, cuffs rolled up and she noticed as he crossed one leg that he was wearing the pants (trousers?) she'd bought for him long ago. Regardless of nomenclature, they had a drawstring…

Canaan snaked an arm out and grabbed him, pulling him backwards, grinning as he dropped the paring knife he was using with a clatter on the glass table. Laughing. "Come on you letch, stop it now. Haven't you had enough?"

"Nope. You're addictive." He so was. His scent, this voice, the feel of his body…and now this light bit of mischievous sprite flicking through the dark river of him as well. There would never be enough time in the world to tire of that.

"So I've heard. Such a burden…" Faux plaint he stared up at the sky, half sprawled over her. "Ouch!" to her small flick on his near arm. "Mmm…" to her stroke over his stomach.

"Also a dick, so there's that as well…"

"Also have a…" With a lusty growl he flipped himself over to pin her, laughing underneath him. Squealing faux protests as he tickled, planting rough kisses on whatever skin he found exposed by the knotted thrashings in the huge towel. "Hey! Didn't you say people were coming?"

"Not 'people'. My brother, Maze and…well, you shall see. Let them wait; I'm suddenly in no mood to entertain. Well, other than you that is."

About twenty minutes later Canaan found herself being breathlessly forced up off the chaise and admonished to 'rush and go get some clothes on before I pounce again, you tempting little tart…' She found several piles of her own on the foot of Lucifer's bed inside, not that they'd never even gotten close to it last night. Wondering how they got there. Slipping on a long t-shirt dress she walked back out to where Lucifer had pulled himself together and finished cutting fruit and cheese to go with a few Dagwood Bumstead sandwiches. And that scent layering over the salt breeze…manna from heaven. She decided she didn't care if it was a sacrilegious thought: that coffee aroma was purely divine vibrancy. He poured a mug for her from a tall carafe, remarking idly on 'the poor choice of clothing; can't see your stems'.

One hidden leg pressed against his they sat side by side, Lucifer laughing as she inhaled the food. "Mind your fingers, love…"

"So your…'brother' will be here…"

"Yes. Actual brother, mind. No fictional quotes required. His name is Amenadiel. Mena."

Canaan mused over the mug she held in her hands, staring into the dark liquid. "Not going to lie, I feel a slight bit apprehensive about that."

"About what, pray tell?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Meeting an angel? Not an everyday occurrence."

"Actually, you might be surprised. Lots of work to do on mortal planes. And besides, you can't possibly tell me that after streetfighting with a demon – yes, she told me about that…" laughing and shaking his head, "…and turning the first archangel and fallen son inside out a scant half hour ago that you're going to let meeting my little brother go to your head."

"Well, it sounds odd when you say it like that." It really did. What the hell.

"No no no, too late to react now; you're well buckled onto this ride." Lucifer perked his ears up, looking behind Canaan at another door opening on the side of the house.

"Mazie! Where are your escorts?"

"Waiting on the beach. He thought she might need a little…time and explanation. Hello, Canaan." The look the demon gave her was one of measured respect. This human had indeed turned out to be a wallow in the unexpected. Canaan rose and walked over to where she stood. This whole past year had been one of surrealistic strangeness, even before she knew who, and what Lucifer was. And Maze coming for her yesterday had been unexpectedly nerve-wrenching. And such a gift.

Amber eyes appraised her as she walked closer.

"I didn't get a chance to say anything this morning; little tired…"

"Oh I'll just bet you were." A gleefully sinister smile cracked open over sharp white teeth.

Canaan shook her head, ruefully, a smile curling one side of her own mouth. "As I was saying…'thank you'. For coming for me. You can't know what it means…I probably don't even yet. But I want you to know how much I appreciate it. Truly. Probably wasn't easy to consider."

Maze looked over the shoulder of the human at Lucifer behind her, a small smile curving his mouth as he watched them. Lucifer closer to as he should be, not a crippled husk. She let her features relax and simply said, "He's worth it. And you actually seem to understand that – in your way, as you can. So…you're welcome, human." She turned to look behind her, down a wide stone spiral staircase from the porch to the beach. At the two figures waiting there beyond.

"Now. There's one down there that's been missing you, and Amenadiel is with as well. Go say hello if you would…I've got something to tell him." Indicating Lucifer's quizzical expression and mentally steadying herself for the coming conversation.

Canaan walked down the staircase, feeling the cool shadows and windblown sand under her bare feet. The high curl of the stone wall surrounding it meant she could not see what was in front of her until her feet were on the sand. The tide was on its way in, and the dazzle of midafternoon sun on the water was blinding. Canaan shielded her eyes with one hand, still apprehensive. She didn't care what Lucifer said; she'd gotten to know him, and even Maze as 'people' - or so she'd thought. Knowing one was meeting an angel was….disconcerting to say the least. The only other strangeness she'd ever met was…oh!

"Cearrebus!"

About fifty yards down the beach she saw Lucifer's huge dog, shuffling excitedly next to a very tall man. Er. Angel.

At the sound of her voice, the animal had broken away, unraveling himself in huge leaps toward her. Running as fast as he could to the sound of her delighted laughter.

Lucifer sat next to Maze on the wide stones of the high wall overlooking the beach, watching the scene unfold below them.

"Well, you were certainly right." She'd seen the increased ease of Lucifer beside her, and had been relieved for it. But certainly the reaction of this formidable guardian – that was…unprecedented, to say the least.

"He's always been like that with her. From the first moment she stepped through my door. Unfathomable, really." He shook his head, smiling, watching the simple, easily affectionate joy of extraordinary human and extraordinary animal, as fascinated as he ever was by their interaction. It still was a significant perplextion; his second creation and the strongest creature in Hell's realm other than Mazikeen. Created to breathe fire, shed brimstone and guard his gates with subjugation. And now here acting the overgrown puppy with this human. Again.

"Actually…perhaps not as much as you think, considering what I have to say." She placed her hand on his, squeezing. Lucifer turned to her in surprise at the gentle touch and as she began to speak, for the second time in a very short span, silver tears began build in his eyes. Overflowing down his cheeks as he watched the tableau below of Canaan being bowled over onto the sand by the exuberantly plausibly canine greeting and Amenadiel walking slowly toward them…one hand over his mouth, golden eyes shining.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


	43. Polishing a Three-Sided Coin (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was weird. Left a break in the text and it actually 'broke' the chapter. Here's the rest.

“So…he’s me. Or partly. How is that possible? And he feels so much…” Lucifer could barely put this into words. And you, Mazie…you’re another - what? Portion? Division?” He shook his head, incredulous.

“It’s not that simple, Lucifer. He and I aren’t less than complete; not diminished in any way.”

“Then am I? Is this…schism why I feel so…” His voice trailed off, still at a loss.

“Not exactly.” She sighed. “Consider it more of being ‘sequestered for safekeeping’. Like a human bank. It’s not as if the currency moving through there intrinsically belongs to the integrity of the structure. It’s just part of one of its functions. And having money in an account rather than one’s pocket doesn’t mean it still isn’t yours, working for you, collecting interest, or…not even in physical form – just data in their computer banks.” she wrinkled her brow, frustrated. “I’m not explaining well. You’ll understand more ‘how’ as soon as you allow yourself to come together.”

“But why? Why Maze? And how do I do that?” He buried his head in his hands, not sure if he felt relief to finally have some answers, or despair that they only led to more questions.

“’Why’, Lucifer, is not for me to say. That is between you and your father. You decided this together. Cearrebus and I can only know as much as you did when we were created. And that was after…”

“After my wings were gone.”

“Yes.”

“Right then, ‘how’? How do I…” He furled an elegant hand out, grasping at air and getting nothing the same way his mind felt trying to understand all this. All this confusion and distress he’d apparently had his own hand in creating. Knowing she could not answer, but seeking anyway. Remembering what he’d said to Canaan that long ago winter afternoon.  
‘You’re intended to seek, not always understand what you find. That incongruity is what galvanizes you forward.’

Just didn’t it, though?

She did have an answer though. Just not one he wanted to hear.

“Ask, Lucifer. Just not of me.”

They were silent for a time. She watched over him, concerned, as Amenadiel was doing for Canaan down on the beach. He finally leaned back on his hands and tipped his head to the sky.

“God doesn’t talk directly to me anymore. Not for so long…and I have asked, nay pleaded…nothing.”

She was quiet, not wanting to anger him. But as he did, because he did, she spoke truth. “Have you really?” She placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to ease the tension she saw there. “Or have you only raged and railed against him? A soliloquy, not a conversation…?”

Long exhale.

“And God is everywhere. All where, all when - always. All ways…don’t you think it’s possible that someone’s been keeping an eye on you?” She squeezed his shoulder, speaking more softly. “Especially you, their very first…and the first, but not the last in creation to fall.”

“What Maze, are going to tell me that God has a plan?” Wry chuckle. “I told Frank what I’m going to say to you now - ‘how do you know it’s a good one?’”

“All right, then turnabout is fair play. ‘How do you know it’s finished?’”

Transitional silence lay gently over them as they watched the three below on the beach.

 

Canaan couldn’t stop laughing as she was rolled around on the sand by the huge animal. Excited whuffs and whines, huge raspy licks that threatened to wipe the skin off her face and the ruff of his thick fur under her hands. Even though she’d only known him briefly, Cearrebus had been the simplest part of this whole, strange scenario. They’d been instantly easy together and she’d truly missed him.

“Stop! STOP!” Eyes squeezed shut, laughing harder. “I’m going to make terrible first impression…”

“We’ve already met. A few times as a matter of fact…not that we’ve ever had a decent introduction.” A rich deep voice and strong dark hand reached down to hers, clasping firmly to pull her to a sit. Amenadiel folded himself down beside her on the side opposite from where the huge dog was now flat on his back along her legs, wiggling, demanding to be petted.

“Hello.” Canaan tried to gather herself, a little overwhelmed. Glad of the gleeful preoccupation on her other side to assuage it. “Sorry, I’m a little…disheveled.”

“No need to apologize. He’s quite determined to give you a warm welcome it seems.” Smiling at the dog, knowing what it meant. “Besides, I’ve seen worse.” ‘On you, specifically’ Mena thought. It was hard to believe she’d been shattered to pulp and then crackling with energy the last two times he’d laid eyes. Even now he had no sense of that power hidden…somewhere. No wonder his brother hadn’t realized until it was nearly too late – for either of them.

“So you’re Lucifer’s…”

“’Little brother’? 'Mere angel'? Yes. Yes, I am. As he enjoys reminding me constantly. It can become rather…annoying on occasion.”

“Lucifer? Annoying? Surely you jest.”

Amenadiel cracked a huge grin, cheerful crinkles trailing from his golden eyes. He liked her. Now he understood better the reaction Cearrebus was giving. Speaking of, he directed his attention to the animal. “Hey. Here for a few reasons. Greetings out of the way now, so are you ready?”

Canaan looked between the two, confused. On her left, Cearrebus flipped over and laid his giant head quietly on her outstretched legs. On her right, Amenadiel shifted himself to sit at a ninety degree angle, facing Cearrebus directly. “I’m sorry to say it’s not just a social call. But we’ll get through it together, all right?”

Canaan cut eyes at the steady golden ones, still confused, and now more than a little concerned. She lay her hands over the thick, beautiful fur in her lap, stroking over the rough ears and down his neck as she knew Cearrebus liked. Looking up beyond Amenadiel’s broad shoulder to where Lucifer and Maze were sitting on the wide, high wall above the beach. Wait…something not right…Lucifer was slumped over, head in one hand, other arm outstretched with reaving fingers. Maze leaning in, talking intently. Canaan began to startle up in renewed fear for him. “Excuse me please, I just…”

She felt Amenadiel’s large hand cover one of hers on the sand, warm, reassuring. A giant paw draped over her legs, equally so. Clearly she wasn’t going anywhere easily, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t intent on trying.

“Canaan. It will be all right. He will be all right. Now you…you need to be all right. Not just for yourself, but for him. And this is where we start. Look down.”

Still wary, she did. Cearrebus was such a large animal that nearly all she could see with his head raised were those azure eyes bordered by dark lashes. Those gorgeous, intelligent soul windows she’d been pierced by since the first time she’d ever met him on the garage steps. But wait…something different about him now that he was allowing her to look closely, unmolested. Cearrebus blinked slowly at her, and lowered his head back to her legs, brushing a paw over his muzzle. A muzzle that was laced with angry scarring visible through the short fur here. She gasped, running her fingers over them, following the trails down through thickening coat and looking at the marks on the one paw over her legs.  
“Oh…what happened to you?” She stroked over him, angry and in disbelief that anything could ever hurt this powerful creature. The dog just settled into her further with a contented groan, blissful under her hand.

“Amenadiel – “

“’Mena’. Believe me, it’s easier.”

“Whatever. What happened??!” Amenadiel smiled to himself at the firm snap; now he knew better why this human was the one handling his willful brother. He kept his hand over hers.

“What do you remember about the morning you were hurt at Lucifer’s mountain house?”

Canaan looked at him, incredulous. “You were there?”

“I was.” Steady eyes. Watching her. Assessing. For this to work, she couldn’t hide…and Lucifer had warned that was her go-to form of protection.

Canaan looked over the ocean. Hand still rubbing into the fur underneath, now seeking comfort as much as giving it. Concentrated inward gaze. “Lucifer asked me the same thing when I first woke up in the hospital after….we never finished that conversation…as things got a little….distorted.” Amenadiel knew that was true as well, and why, but that was for another time. First, to get past this hurdle; no small feat.

“All right. Let’s finish it now. Think back. Tell me as you remember. And I’ll help you when I can.”

Canaan started slowly; she’d not thought on it very clearly or very often with so many other things seemingly more pressing to consider over the last few months.  
“I wanted to see the sunrise from the ridge. We…” stroking over Cearrebus’ eyes, “…started up just before dawn.”

“Without Lucifer. Even though he’d asked.”

“Yes, I didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, it was for a project I had in mind. I need to concentrate when I absorb images for art and your brother is…certainly distracting at times. Well, most of the time as a matter of fact. Perhaps you’ve noticed.” Amenadiel chuckled, meeting her eyes and pleased to see a small smile there. Humor in healing had an important place. Perhaps she was more resilient than even she knew.

“We watched the sun rise in the east, and then I wanted to see how it hit the ridges to the west so I turned…” Now remembering more, slow images wafting up from deeply sequestered memories. Confusion about direction of shadows. Then dark…sharply wrong dark, and bitter, soul-wrenching cold. She shivered, suddenly feeling clammy and nauseous.

“Here’s where we’re going to help you. We can do this. Trust us, Canaan, all right? Keep talking. Get it out.” He meant the last vestiges of foulness burrowed like maggots deep into her mental scars that Raphael could not remove: that he’d said she had to do herself. For her sake, and his brother’s he hoped she could.

It was difficult, but the last few months’ of work with Corrine had primed her. Canaan felt a warm, steady influence from the presence of both Amenadiel (Fine, ‘Mena’. It was easier) and Cearrebus. Not enough comfort to add turbidity; just enough to keep working, keep going….and once she started she could feel the pain of the purge coming on. Vile, internal disturbance coming loose. Just wanting to talk faster and get through it before she reacted physically as well. Vomiting on an angel was probably a cardinal sin.

“I heard something…alien, but familiar too. It sounded like…me but not me, if that makes sense. Something sick, using my voice. Bad dark; like something was twisting the worst parts of myself to do further damage. And I have some decent ‘worst’.” She looked down at Cearrebus. Trying hard to do as she was asked, feeling that it could help if she could just… “Mena, there are some things…” She looked up at him, eyes dry but hollow. “Some terribly private things that he doesn’t know.” She looked again at Lucifer. He was leaning back, propped on his hands and looking up at the sky, Maze with a hand on his shoulder, still talking to him. The fact that he was looking up made her worry for him ease a little, and Amenadiel saw her expression soften. He was pleased to see it. Genuine care for others despite personal pain was an important skill to cultivate; never enough of it on these mortal planes was his experience.

“You don’t need to talk about that. Not yet.” Something in the way he said this made her take pause.

“You know though, don’t you?” Weaving diverse threads.

The angel gave her a level, steady look. “Yes, I do. Maze and I. We’ve known from the start – just the events, all right? Both, but not everything. Not details. That belongs to you to deal with as you see fit.”

“Does he?” Suddenly fearful.

“No. As I said, it will be up to you if you think he should. Now come, let’s finish this. You’re very close now.” 

Deep breath. One hand clenched in the thick ruff and Cearrebus’ firm, reassuring pressure on her legs. Other hand swallowed in Mena’s own. “That dark voice said some terrible, awful things. And I…” she swallowed, throat dry. “…I listened. I agreed…Oh!” Horror of remembered shock flashed in her hazel eyes, a brief aqua burst startling Amenadiel. He felt a pull starting around them, energy fluxing. He gripped her hand tighter, and Cearrebus lay his other paw over her.

“I fell – let go. On purpose.”

The words hung in the air, ragged as the power heaving in shatters around them. Raging river under a splintering dam of viciously dark ice.

“I was hurt…very badly, more than…wait, how did…?” she paused, confused. Shaking it off with a twitch. Triaging for later. But still…

Canaan looked over at Mena, flashing hazel eyes meeting the golden ones deeply. Thankfully.

“I fell…and you caught me.” Silent for a moment, remembering. “Thank you. I cannot even say how much.”

He smiled. Pleased with her progress as he felt the distortion beginning to abate.

“But how did you know?”

“Lucifer. He called me to help.”

Biting her lip. “So, he knows. Knows what I did. Just not why.”

“Yes.”

“Knows what I did….and yet we’re together anyway.” Musing. Distortion abating further.

“But I still don’t understand what happened to him?” Stroking careful fingertips over the lacing on the furred muzzle.

“He was trying to protect you.”

Canaan hissed an indrawn breath, remembering the last sounds she heard before she fell: the angry, painful howls of the dog. Far away screaming as she dropped…Lucifer?

“That dark had him snared and he was trying to fight it, to get to you before you gave in. He was devastated to know he hadn’t. It was hard to heal and he does have these scars, but he let me.” Amenadiel smiled at the beautiful blue eyes of the animal. Smile fading as he was suddenly chilled to hear a horribly flat voice speaking words that echoed straight from the void’s maw.

“So through my weakness, my failure - I did this to him. I hurt him (them, I hurt them)…”

The hibernating dark that had been pulled free by her, from her, now flared - roving. Insatiably voracious. Beginning to feed…

Amenadiel spoke quickly, no empty comfort here - just truth, but it was being drowned out. She could barely hear him through the blur of noise in her head. ‘Yes, but no! It’s part of a process even he is learning to understand...Canaan, work now! Work through this.’

The remaining distortion plumed sharp, venomous spines. Dark hunger, scrabbling. Here. Right here is where she would start to finally break, hide again to die - or heal as she’d been struggling toward. But…Canaan was crushed. She’d caused more pain. Terrible pain to those didn’t deserve it. Those who paid a steep price for caring, through no fault of their own. Just as before…

Amenadiel was sharply vigilant as Canaan slumped forward, pulling free of him to wrap both arms around the thick, furred neck. Cearrebus whined softly, pawing at her legs. Settling his huge head against her shoulder, teeth bared in a vicious challenge to the seething thickets of poison barbing and bubbling all around them. Daring it to claim her when she was under his watch.

From high up, Lucifer felt the disturbance and looked down at Canaan collapsed into the dog’s body, Amenadiel right beside her, watchful. “Maze, I…” he made to push off the wall, but a strong graceful hand held him back. “No. Not yet. Have a little faith, Lucifer. Amenadiel is strong. Besides you’re right there too, and look…look at what she’s doing. Reaching out, not retreating. And look who she’s holding onto.”

Canaan was clinging to the animal, trying to find one thing to steady herself on, one small hope to start to coalesce herself around in a tarry storm of howling pain. And suddenly, she realized it was already happening. Someone she cared for was right here, helping her simply being present; no words required (just as she had for someone else). And she’d not fail him again. Nor herself. She raised her head, holding onto the dog’s huge jowls in front of her. Looking deeply into his eyes. She said the same words she had to Amenadiel, but torn free from a different place. No, not torn. 

Given. 

“Thank you. Thank you for trying, I just...I’m so very sorry you were hurt but…thank you.” She rested her forehead against his and kissed the scars on the grizzled muzzle, reaching out a hand to Amenadiel in silent appreciation for bringing him. Two sets of eyes closed in relief and the giant dog nestled in with her, a deeply contented sigh relaxing the tension in his body as the distortion and pain was washed free by the strange energy around them. Amenadiel twisted and leaned back to look up at Lucifer and Mazikeen, smile lighting his golden eyes as he did so. Not all good paths were easy, but it did not make them any less worthwhile to travel.

Later that evening the improbable party of five found themselves enjoying the relief of both the cooling sea breezes and ease of tension from the day. 

“Well, brother…you can’t tell me there’s very many prettier sights in creation than the one before us now.” Lucifer’s sly grin and flickered eyebrow at Amenadiel were met with simply a patient smile. He was inclined to agree, but his older brother was just so…much, sometimes.

“Oh honestly, lighten up.” Lucifer teased, finishing his tumbler and nudging the bottom of his brother’s glass.

“You’re the one who needs to ‘lighten up’ the touch a bit, Lucifer…I still can’t believe what you did here. Still destined to fix your messes, it seems.” Maze snorted at the wry scowl crossing his face and at Mena’s grin at her defense of him. 

“It’s fine, Mazikeen.”

“Silence, human,” she teased. “It’s ‘Maze’ to you now, and the only reason you’re saying that is because you can’t see what I’m dealing with.”

Canaan just chuckled as she shrugged.

The vision before them the angels had been admiring was one of Mazikeen sitting in back of Canaan on the huge chaise trying to work knots out of her hair. Long dark legs clad in short leather sprawled around fair ones in ripped jeans with Cearrebus in an impossible caricature of lap-dog at their feet. In a state of constant warmth from her hellish embers despite the cool evening breeze from the ocean, Maze’s arms were bare to the leather laced tank she wore (which Amenadiel seemed unable to take his eyes off of), in lovely contrast to the long white sleeves of the cotton shirt on Canaan. The warrior had offered to heal the minor symbols of the long night preceding, but Canaan declined, though still not wanting them on display. She felt, as they all did, that abrupt change was coming, and she wanted as much to happen naturally as it could, irrationally hoping time would slow down. “So, hate to be a buzzkill, but I’m supposed to at work tomorrow. Early. Although I sure don’t feel like it.” She certainly didn’t. It had been a rather…oh hell (whatever)…completely bizarre 24 hours span. And that was saying something in her life.

“Don’t worry love; my brother and Maze have a few…’special talents’ between them.”

“Like splitting me into a several places at simultaneously? Fantastic. Done.”

“More like altering your linear time line in certain spheres and obfuscating human perception. Those party tricks do come in handy, indeed. So no frets pet; we’ve all the time we may need.”

Canaan tilted her head wryly over her shoulder to Maze. “Thought you didn’t lie?” 

“Oh, I don’t….I just don’t always tell the whole truth, either.” Demonically delicious smile.

“Well…then give me a drink, please. God – oops, sorry – could I use one.”

“Yes, there’s a few more things before…well, that need attention. But I think we’ve all earned a free evening.” Amenadiel glanced briefly at Lucifer, who was looking at Maze as he handed Canaan a glassful.

“You know, with all this divine-ness slopping everywhere, you’d think you all would have learned more subtlety, or telepathy, or something. You all bring obviousness to a new level.” Canaan rubbed her toes into Cearrebus’ fur, happy for his contented stability. And the drink. A fingerful of normalization or at least a nice quaff of ‘fuckit’. The huge animal yawned, tongue curling over sharp teeth and then settled his head contentedly on her legs with a soft wuff.

“Ugh. Would hate to see inside THAT head.” A dark, muscular elbow jostled his brother’s arm.

Lucifer chided him as he rebalanced his glass. “Hey! Near alcohol abuse there, you oaf.” Looking a little more closely at the interaction between his dog and Canaan, inklings of an idea dawning. But first… “How are you doing love, really? Been quite a ride, yeah? Buckles or not.” He smiled, but his dark eyes were searching.

“Oh, I’ll be in therapy for…forever, probably. Better brush up on my metaphorical allegories.” Laughing. “But mostly okay, thanks, bizarre as that truth is. I feel pretty good. And compartmentalize well. It’s a useful skill in present company, I’ve found.”

The easy chatter continued over a late dinner, then an angel, an archangel and his demon, his guardian and one human sat quietly on the beach and watched the stars appear on the stage of this world’s guise of heaven. After a time, goodbyes were said and Canaan found it particularly difficult to let the fuzziest go. By the whines, the animal felt the same way. Lucifer, knowing now as he did, felt a strange, warm sensation rising from the fissures within his vast mind. He spoke gently, standing behind her on the beach with lips moving against her hair as she leaned back against him, secure in his hold. Foaming surf washing in around their ankles, feet settling closer together as sand was drawn away from underneath.

“I have some things…some things I’d like to tell you.”

“Me, too.”

But not tonight.

Before sinking deeper into the scour of gently abrasive suction, Lucifer backed them away until they were on a higher portion of the dune, Canaan folded into the frame of his body in front as they sat down. He trailed nose and mouth slowly against her neck on both sides, pleased to feel her lean back into him as she sighed.

“Oh…that is lovely…but not to ruin the moment or anything…this puny human doesn’t recover as fast as you.” The last little trick on the chaise before lunch probably hadn’t been the brightest idea she’d ever had after the long night, but he was annoyingly irresistible. Lucifer smiled into her hair. ‘Puny’ wasn’t first on his list of adjectives for this particular human. And no matter…he was quite talented in many things, in many ways if he did say so himself. As he did, quite often. As now, for example.

“No matter, love.” He leaned back into the sand still warm from the heat of the day’s sun, turning her to face him.

“I’m simply going to lay here underneath and devastate your mouth with mine until we both come.”

And he did.


	44. Considering Sacred Geometry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor miracles are everywhere. Fractals and mathematical sequences fascinate me; the language of numbers and pattern-making in the art, as it were. Perfection and balance stitched into the very intrinsic heart of things is pretty freaking cool in my humble little opinion. Taken from .html: "The Nautilus spiral is a common element of Sacred Geometry as well as to all natural development. Spirals in nature tend to follow the Golden Ratio (Phi) or Fibonacci Sequence in their rates of expansion. The key to Sacred Geometry is the relationship between the progression of growth and proportion. Harmonic proportion and progression are the essence of the created universe and is consistent with nature around us. The natural progression follows a series that is popularized in the West as the "Fibonacci Series" where the first two numbers in the series are added to create the third number for a series of number that begins 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377, 610, 987...and goes on ad infinitum. The ratio of the numbers gains great importance as the series continues. By dividing one number by the previous number, the answers result in or come closer to phi: 3/5 = 1.6666, 13/8 = 1.6250, 233/144 = 1.6180."

[ - ]

Lucifer awoke before Canaan did the next morning, his sleep erratic. For once not by the nightmares of falling, but of feeling artificial; that yesterday and the night preceding had been the dream and he was still here, alone, tortured. He'd needed to see and feel her next to him in the watches of the night, and in the early morning light grateful that here she still was. Long hair braided back on his pillows: Maze's contribution to offset the tangles he seemed to always create. Skin still marked with stitches and other physical talismans from the necessary violence it took to rescue him that night. He was Lord of Hell trapped in his own mind and she'd walked unbidden right into it to retrieve him. Little scarred human with the large cracked heart…and strange power.

It was all strange. What Mazikeen had said. What his guardians sheltered…and why? Why?

So many questions…He was restless in his adjustment to all this new. Unwilling to disturb the still-recovering one beside him he slipped away…smiling at little as she turned in her sleep to where he'd been. Feeling the rarity of that smile and being pleased with it. He dressed quickly and walked down to the beach. Other than yesterday, he had not been since his long night raging at the stars months ago.

He walked silently for a time along the waterline, still perplexed. Remembering what Maze had said about asking….but as he felt he had been…for so, so very long unsure how to go about it. Lost in thought he felt something sharp under his foot. Wincing, he picked the object up before the waves buried it again. It was a large Nautilus shell, partially broken open. Lucifer ran his elegant fingers over the perfect Fibonacci sequence of the spirals. Small gradations to large the ratios are exactly the same; the curling portions completely separated from one another even though the proximity is close. Smaller chambers completely closed and finite – only the largest open to the ocean. The creature itself seals the old sections away as it grows, but still requires them for buoyancy. Necessary, but inaccessible.

Was this what he was? One sealed away from himself? To understand the sliding scale of perception he needed to break? Open himself? Create finite walls then come apart to see, to feel, to learn everything from a different perspective? But why? And who helped him do that? He sat, cradling the shell in his hands, running careful fingers over the sharp interior edges. Such work the creature had put in, only to remain sequestered from these as it grew.

Just then the sun began to break through the early fog and the dawn cloud cover, warmth of transition. He closed his eyes and lifted his face, letting the sunlight wash over him. Even with lids tightly shut and the early hour of the day, the strength of the sun was powerfully blinding. Wait…he now actually was blind despite opening them. Could not see a damn thing through, what the…putting his hands to his face, he heard lovely peals of laughter receding from him. He withdrew his hands (and his shirt she'd slept in) from his face just in time to see a quick wink of legs disappearing under a long rolling comber.

Lucifer realized that he and Canaan had always been more similar (though not in scale) than he imagined. Wanting joy and being creative in the search for it. But struggling with loss and pain and the war between fighting and giving in. How she knew how to start healing him. He patted the pocket holding the item Maze had given him. Now he might could help her. If she'd allow him to try and herself to accept it.

AND if she'd ever resurface, that is! He was becoming anxious, scanning the water past the surf break. Where was she? It would be just the same train of his rotten luck if she was suddenly sharkbit, or suffered from leg cramps, seduced by mermaids – wait, that would be trip the light fantastical - caught in fishing line…or succumbed to any number of the tragedies that befell these creatures on a daily basis. And yet they still mostly just plugged away at their lives, getting as much out of them as they could before spiraling into The Great Beyond. Of which they had no ken, despite many of them thinking staunchly otherwise. It was impressive really, in a demented sort of way.

There. Finally. Much farther out than he'd have thought; apparently oxygen was optional for her. And she was flying? Dual sweep of her arms out to the sides alternating with strong kick: butterfly stroke. Dear sweet Heaven that snap of her hips made his gut twist; to be over that, under or sideways, hanging from a tree branch…not fussy, really. He ran his tongue under his lower lip as he watched her stitch tirelessly across the surface of the rough ocean. Owning her freedom in both air and water. And heading across the bloody Atlantic by the looks of it. Impossible woman. He stood, brushing sand from his clothes and glaring rebuke at his fly: today was likely to be a different sort of communication. He trotted up the curve of the stone stairs, snagging a towel from next to the rinse shower and keeping an eye on her progress. She was quite far out, but looked as if she had finally changed stroke and direction. She was swimming freestyle now, parallel with the shoreline and against the current. He leaned against the wall for a while, just watching. He'd occasionally lose her in the glimmer of the rising sun and chop of waves but if he kept trending her pace with where he thought she'd be…yes. He always found her again. Finally she turned once more, heading back. He returned to the beach with the towel and strolled along until he saw her coming for him. Butterfly again, the sweep of her arms diving under the waves she was caught in, using their power to boost her kick. Moving through the turbulent water with grace and finesse…using what she had and what she was given to make her journey beautifully precarious to watch. As she neared the surfbreak one last strong sweep let her catch a huge comber, body surfing in to where she could stand. She turned to the sun, pulling water from her long braid, then wiping her eyes and smiling as she spun to his call. Becoming a land creature once more. Splashing her feet and gasping, lips a little blue from the cold water but her brilliantly warm smile lit him up as he walked over, extending the hand with the towel.

"Oh thank you – guess I didn't think that dip all the way through."

"No, I suppose you did not. No goggles? And no suit other than your birthday one? Not that I'm complaining, mind. Lovely view; just hope you'd not been this au natural over at Alfonse's gym this past year. Hate to think I was in some way contributing to your general delinquency more than I already have."

She just rolled her eyes at him. Sideways actually, as she shook water from her ears. He wrapped her in the towel and they flopped down next to each other as she caught her breath…Canaan sniggering at the mild rebuke of 'gerroff me, ruddy sticky salty little sugar cookie' as he leaned away from her sandy body.

After they'd sat for a few minutes, Canaan warming up and Lucifer thinking how best to broach what he had in mind, he decided action was better than words. He reached into his pocket and held the small copper box flat on the palm of his hand between them. Watching her.

She only had eyes for the box and her voice was quiet and solemn as she asked, "Where did you get this?"

"Maze had brought it from your house along with some of your clothes. She thought it might be important." Watching her eyes very closely. "It is, isn't it?" Intense eyes they were, but very human ones.

She took it from him and as she did he noticed how perfectly her thumb fit over the small burnished spot on the surface.

"Yes. It's the most important material thing I have."

She was silent for a few minutes, her thumb gently stroking over the same spot as if she'd been born to do only this. Of all the things she could possibly say, he was not prepared for her words when she finally did speak.

"Let's go for a ride."

[ ]

Canaan was pensive as they walked back down the tideline together to the staircase, and he did not press. She left him to wash and get dressed and although she smiled appreciation at the food and coffee he had waiting for her on the counter afterwards, she declined.

"Sorry, I'm not hungry."

When they went back outside to the garage, she suddenly turned to him, a strange expression in her eyes.

"What, Canaan?" His voice was gentle…not wanting to press her faster than she was trying to go. Just glad she finally was. Again, her words surprised him.

"Lend me your keys?"

"If you wish…you certain?"

"Yes."

It felt strange to be in the passenger seat of his own car, but that same sense of quiet command in reserve she'd felt so long ago watching him drive he now felt for her. Handling the powerful coupe easily and looking damn fine doing it. She'd tied her hair back against the wind and a few long tendrils dancing along her neck lent the only softness in her image. He'd tried to make conversation a few times, but she'd only smiled a little, nodded or gave one-word answers. Practitioner Raene here hard at work getting accomplished what needed done. Lucifer lapsed back into silence, only asking once where they were headed after they'd been speeding further north on the coastal highway over a half hour.

"Not far now, okay?"

About ten minutes later, she took a minor exit off the highway and after a few turns down decrepit roads the last pitted one skating the high bluff bordering the sea ended abruptly at an old gate. Canaan stopped the car and they climbed out. The hinge had rusted shut but it was easy enough to walk around it through the broken fence and down the overgrown gravel tracks leading out to an extension of the bluff. The salt-scented wind here was strong and multidirectional over the narrow point of land, twisting the long grass and brambles into arabesques where nature was the artist. It was wild…beautiful. Earth and sky, wind and water. Like all of the art in her home. Like all of the colors in her eyes.

The dual faint gravel tracks quickly faded to single, then just him following behind Canaan as she picked her way through. At the very far end of the bluff was a small, roughly triangular 'nose', with a steep, switchback rocky path cut into the side down to the small gravel beach far below. Several small trees grew close together near the edge, their branches entwined and shaped into sculpture by the wind. About fifteen feet in front of them was a rough-hewn stone bench; just three slabs carefully placed. She sat down on it facing out to sea, copper box cradled in her hands. Lucifer stood a small distance behind her, waiting for her to speak. After a time, when she did not he broke their silence, speaking over the wind.

"What is this place, Canaan?"

"The land was willed to me from my parents. This is where I buried the ashes and planted these trees after I killed my husband and children."

Oh God.

Oh no.


	45. Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The answer to the scars. Body and soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The partial song is 'Lullaby' by the kids' band Trout Fishing in America. They have whimsical music, very witty and funny. This one is *not* like that, but it's really one of the most poignantly lovely pieces I think, even if you don't have children. Well worth a listen. Explicit descriptions of traumatic loss here. It is italicized as a warning within the text. Later italics are partial song lyrics.

[ - ]

Lucifer's mouth had gone dry as the ash under furnaces of Hell and his throat felt just as raw. She couldn't have said, no…couldn't have meant those words he'd heard…

Canaan had risen to move away from the bench, folding to a kneel among the semi-circle of the three little trees. She was still speaking and he leaned into the wind to hear her, unable yet to come close. "These are sassafras trees. They're five, almost six years' old now so they should survive here even though it's a harsh spot. Strong, hardy…with healing properties." She was running her hands over the branches, caressing the resilient life dancing in the wind. "They seemed a most appropriate choice for memorial. Not dead like chiseled stone. Not thrown in a grid with other husks in boxes to be visited on birthdays and holidays…as if those we've loved can be simply be impounded deep in cold dirt. And for what? To take up dead space? To be eventually forgotten and their sites kept up by strangers? No. Better something living, like they were. That when it dies will give life to other things."

Lucifer kept listening, now coming around the back of the bench to approach her from the side. His thoughts were as confused and distorted as the tangled branches blowing in the wind next to them. Canaan had the small copper box on her bent legs, and she picked it up as she slid to sit more firmly on the ground under the little trees.

"It's a puzzle – did you try to open it?"

"No." He slowly settled near her, beyond cautious. Her voice wasn't flat, nor conversational either. It was like she was entertaining a surprise guest in a house she'd long had closed up. Drawing a dusty curtain back. Sitting on one slipcovered chair.

"Then look." She pressed all four corners of the box simultaneously, each hand working the opposite angles. At her gentle pressure the lid, seamless before now separated slightly from the rest and she removed it. With her hands cradled around it he could not see what was inside.

"This how my husband proposed. He said…" Her voice broke a little here, but he could tell the memory brought her joy, "…he said that there was always a little logical magic in everything. Like me. Figuring out the box was how I found my engagement ring."

She opened her hands and indeed there was a lovely ring inside, a multifaceted emerald cut on a plain platinum band, austere but beautiful. The mutably light color was unusual and she smiled as she saw the question on his face. "Blue topaz. We weren't fans of the whole 'conflict diamond' issue and he said it looked like my eyes when I was happy." Indeed, it did. Whomever he had been, he'd chosen well for her. It wasn't the only thing though. Two more plain platinum bands, one slender, one not. And not all…

She held a lock of hair, bound on one end. She cupped it tightly, protecting it from the wind. A glossy sable curl.

"My son. He was four." Her voice caught and she took a deep breath before she continued. "His first haircut. Look how dark this is! Like my husband…he used to joke that people would call me the nanny since my coloring was so different than theirs. They were so beautiful…took my breath away…when they weren't driving me crazy, that is." Small smile here.

For a time they were silent. Only the sound of the wind, waves below and the slight squeak of the little tree branches rubbing together. Strange music. Their overture.

Looking at the fragments of her life in her hands, softly she began to speak again.

"When I was younger I was hurt by events beyond my control. Badly. By someone I thought I knew and could trust. And that made trust afterwards difficult, not that I was ever exceptionally great at that anyway." She smiled wryly. "But someone else trustworthy found me, and…he waited for me. Waited until I was ready for everything he could offer and it was wonderful. Not perfect, but what is?" She looked out to sea, her eyes with the same stone color and same thick heaving gloss as she laughed softly. "But so wonderful nonetheless. We were astoundingly happy…and I loved him. Love all we shared together..." The expression on her face could have put the beauty of any of his angelic brothers far to shame. Until it changed. Dimmed.

"But I lost them. **No**." She took a shuddering breath. "Not lost. Killed. My mistake killed them." She replaced the cherished items and closed the box. Rocking slightly as she clutched it over her stomach.

He was still quiet, kneeling near, their knees close. No need to sense purposefully, he could feel her easily. No deadly darkness here, no poisonous fester. Just pain. Raw and deep as her soul could stretch. Infinitely far.

"I can't say it. Oh…oh if I could, if I were only stronger…but I just…They don't deserve to be forgotten…but I just can't say…" No tears, just a hollow voice echoing from the same void he knew all too well. A voice of ash and dry bone. Like his from the depths of his own Hell.

"I'd like to be of aid - if you'll allow." He spoke cautiously, knowing how private she was. Not wanting her to think he was asking for himself. Not simply satisfying his curiosity, although he was indeed so very interested. She needed relief from this.

She was relatively quiet a few minutes, only her erratic breathing disturbing the etch of sea on the shore below them. Then one simple word. Not a request, or even a question. Exactly his own single simple word spoken aloud on her balcony last fall.

"Help."

Lucifer closed his eyes and bowed his head. Unsure and certain all at once. He felt the sweet wash of radiance sweeping warm threads into the wind before he even opened his eyes. Raphael sat next to his brother, making a loose circle of the three of them. To their shock, Canaan was staring right at the newcomer. Knowing but not seeing. And the few words she said compounded their astonishment. "Green. Something green…and strong. Gentle, too…but…Lucifer?" She looked back over at the dark eyes she knew, stretching a nervous hand toward him; not frightened but wary.

Seeking comfort in the Devil. Despite the precarious scenario, he still found that bemusedly funny. "It's all right, love. My brother is here." To her confused expression, "No, not Mena. His name is Raphael. He is an archangel…as I was, but he's a good boy. A healer. And you've already met him. Twice, actually. Although it wasn't an ideal situation, either of them, hence my distinct appreciation for his skill set."

The one named was looking between the two of them. It was the first time he'd seen her conscious and uninjured. Desperately stressed yes, but her depth of interaction apparent with his fallen brother and Lucifer's gentle care was…unprecedented. She looked back over at him. Right into his eyes though he knew she could neither see nor hear him. Watching as her own flared brief, brilliant sparks of aquamarine at the emerald ones she was blind to. Raphael gasped.

"By our father, brother…what **have** you found…is she…?"

"Quite befuddling, right? Yes. Take a ticket, you're not the only one on that ride. Look Phae, I asked you here for a favor…"

Canaan could barely listen as Lucifer talked low and quickly…a one-sided conversation to nothing she should possibly be aware of, but was. She felt powerful comfort beside her, strangely familiar. But there had been so **many** strange things, **so** many of them recently…and right now she was too unbalanced to think through this puzzle effectively. Being here again after so long…lost in her own thoughts, she barely heard the pitch of Lucifer's beautiful voice change. As if from far away she heard her name…well…not given. The one she'd taken. Seeking refuge in something new. Something promised if one could only work hard enough to get there.

"Canaan…are you ready?" Reaching out to touch her hand, closing his long fingers over hers. She wasn't responding verbally to him, but he felt her fingers curl with his.

"Lucifer. Are **you** ready? This will be different, harder than last time. She's awake and aware now…and this is intentional. It will be stronger. There's no filter – you'll see everything she does. As she does. And feel it **exactly as she does** – and you remember that, correct?" Raphael's last caution was met with his brother's curt nod, not even meeting his eyes as he looked at the human beside him. Lucifer felt Raphael grasp his arm and saw him clutch over Canaan's other hand.

The change was instant. The late morning seascape disappeared and became...

_Night. Cold, early winter. Nearby. The coastal highway was dark, only the feeble lights of their own car and occasional others shone blearily through the rain turning to sleet. Snippets of conversation…no, an argument. A low one, trying not to wake the sleeping child strapped in the backseat._

_"You don't have to do this. Any of this. You're exhausting yourself and for what? Money?" The voice was unfamiliar, masculine. Strong but not arrogant._

Lucifer heard it from his right, realizing that he was truly in Canaan's perspective – she was driving. And she **was** exhausted, as accused.

_"Money." She was scoffing, hurt. "As if that is a good reason for all this. All this effort, all this time away from you both. Is that truly what you think? Thanks a lot. You're a real ass sometimes, you know?"_

_"I just don't understand why…'_

_'Of course you don't - never asked, have you? Never said a goddamned thing about it when I brought it up before I enrolled, then before clinicals either and now, when I'm only months from finishing, suddenly NOW it's an issue? You have lousy fucking timing."_

_The unfamiliar voice began to speak again but was silenced by her hiss as the car began to slide. She rode out the uncontrolled curve, steering into it, gritting her teeth and regaining control slowly. White-knuckled, but successful._

_'Maybe we should pull over.'_

_'Spoken like someone who grew up in the Sun Belt. Hang on, you did. Which is why I'm behind the wheel on this joyride. 'Pull over', hah. Where? In the middle of East Guam on a narrow shoulder waiting for someone else to splatter into us? Until when – spring thaw? Got to be kidding me, don't be ridiculous. Just shush and let me concentrate, all right? I can at least do that even if you think I'm a failure elsewhere.'_

_"I never said…'_

_'Oh, of course you didn't; you never do until the eleventh hour…I love you but you're such a passive-aggressive jerk sometimes."_

_Silence until laughter started from her right side. "You're the only person I know who can mix 'I love you' and insults and still make it seem totally hot.'_

_'Oh fuck off. I'm tired and I told you to let me concentrate.' The words were harsh but the tone wasn't and Lucifer-though-Canaan could feel her relax, happier as she laughed as well. Taking her eyes off the road for a second to look over at…_

_…someone he never saw as around the curve of the highway in front of them a slide of light ripped her attention back. Coming their way a tractor-trailer had begun to slip as they had earlier, but the driver was unable to control the huge vehicle. Wind, ice and momentum slewed the truck toward them across both lanes. High cliff on one side, narrow guardrail spine on the bluff on the other._

_Nowhere to go…_

_No control…_

_Lucifer-through-Canaan felt her cut the wheel hard. He was confused, until he realized she was trying to fold them into the angle of the cargo section, hoping to be just pushed along until they all just came to a stop…eventually. But the ice prevented her car from responding as she wished and then_

_impact_

_horns blaring_

_child behind her rousing: shrill cries at the lights and crash_

_'Mommy!'_

_a man's hands splayed on the passenger-side windshield at another impact, metal screaming, then a sickening drop_

_tumbling, then a sudden brutal arrest_

**SILENCE**. the absolute loudest sound she had ever heard.

_and PAIN. no AGONY. unbearable yet must be borne as it was unchanging…no, worsening…such pain and not just physical…_

_choking, on what? blood. her own. nearly upside down being gutted on the jammed seatbelt as she hung like a beast in a slaughterhouse. freezing in the rush of air from…from...from the sea below the bluff. the hungry sea…_

_from the shattered, blood-tinged man-sized hole punched through the windshield on the passenger side. portion of the guardrail skewering the car oh god ohgodohgod where was he where was he WHERE WAS HE?!_

_no god here_

_no husband here_

_only the pain, the howling cold and the weakening screams of her child behind her._

_the guardrail skewering the car…how far back had it gone…?!_

**_'MOMMY!'_ **

_'mommy!'_

_'mo…mmeee..'_

_desperately trying to free herself, desperately trying to reach back for her son. jammed seatbelt twisting tighter into her broken sternum and ribs as she struggled. tearing herself apart but it wasn't enough…could not fight hard enough against this restraint…_

_'can't breathe'…_

_'can't reach…'_

_oh god_

_**no god here.** _

_her last cogent thoughts as she listened to her child go silent behind her, unable to save him, not even able to touch him - was that wherever they went, she wanted to follow…so badly, if but only…then darkness_

_Suddenly the kaleidoscope shifted. harsh lights, harsh voices…frozen salt in her mouth (blood, so much) more pain as she was stabilized and cut out, trying desperately to tell them, desperately to say…too weak. again, too weak. failing as she had before…_

_false sleep of anesthetics_

_waking_

_where? when? what happened? oh no…oh god_

_**no god here** _

_running a bandaged hand over her abdomen…feeling the packing and suction lines of the wound vac…no…no…NONO **NONO** NON **OOOOOO**!_

_'we're so sorry, there was no way to save…'_

_no. nothing left. done. i give up._

_**no god anywhere** _

_…and you don't have to stop a heart to die…_

[ - ]

Suddenly, blessedly, it was gone. Once more the air was the warm and salty kiss of early summer, the murmur of the waves below comforting now, not a starving maw feeding. But how he felt; what she'd felt…that new rawness…that stayed. Lucifer looked over at her, silent, still, staring unfocused at their hands together under the trees.

Raphael spoke to him from where he'd sat back after removing his hands from them. Removing that violent connection he'd fostered. His voice however, was gentle. "Had enough, brother?"

"I've had what I need, yes. Thank you, Raphael." The gaze the archangels shared was searingly strong.

Alone again on the bluff. Alone together under the wind and her trees.

So that was her story. The reason she'd been punishing herself with this cruel life for almost what – six years she'd said? She and her family had been in a tragic accident and since she'd been driving and the only survivor she held herself responsible. And she'd been pregnant. Her husband, **her children** …literally torn away from her. Daily reminded of her loss by her own body: a horrific scar from a seatbelt. Something designed to protect. A restraint she'd fought although to no avail, although the other had failed her husband.

No wonder she had thought there was no God.

Now that he had this new thing, this new feeling of love's utter desecration…a parent grieving loss of a beloved child - he could surely understand how she might think that. What kind of God would allow aberration of such nature to undeserving innocents? For what possible reason?

Canaan pulled away from him, speaking, her soft voice nearly lost in the wind. "You cannot understand the pain of losing a child unless you've been a parent. It's unlike anything else."

Actually, now he could. Because he'd felt it through her. Still did. Would remember it forever, literally, as he did everything else after the fall, and it was devastating him. Mostly because it was her. He felt it so because he cared for her. _'You are my friend and what bothers you concerns me'_. His own words so long ago. So very true.

She went on, not looking at him, just holding the box of her treasured life on her lap. "I was given a gift I didn't understand, and I lost it. No, pushed away – squandered...and there is no hope for atonement."

What?

"I lost my husband. Lost my **children** …I was supposed to protect them, give them everything they needed...and I failed. What kind of horrible parent does that? What kind of terrible person? My arrogance…my decisions that night, us being there at all – traveling back home together because I was in school…had the other car in the shop, stupid domestic responsibilities. Should have cut that day with the storm coming, like he'd asked…we would have never…" She stopped, silent again.

Looking up at the sky, one hand on her abdomen. "He didn't even know; I hadn't told him yet. Couldn't understand why I was so tired, thought it was just school and work but…"

She clutched her hands around the box before she placed it front of her. Trying so hard to get through this. To maybe earn the peace of her new name. Promised land.

"Another student in my clinical group made me take a pregnancy test earlier. Had an ultrasound that day…I was going to tell them when we got home."

"A little girl. A daughter. I 'heard' my son's name as soon as we knew about him. Same with her."

She opened her empty hands, searching for something that wasn't there.

"'Raene'."

The lash of the salt wind was harder now. Making a mockery of the sunshine filtering through the trees.

"I don't have anything I can keep of her…except her name. My three are why I changed mine. Changed location. Changed specialties. Why I do trauma – to stop someone else feeling what I did. But I can't…yes, we save some, but not all…and sometimes the damage in the ones we do is overwhelming. All that pain I wanted to prevent and can't. I'm just as powerless now as I was then. I've lost them, and for what? For nothing. **Squandered time away from their lives before I killed them for nothing**."

Her voice was so quiet, so at risk of being carried away completely on the wind. He could barely hear her.

"I could only think of two paths to choose and they come to the same place anyway. End myself quickly or do it slower; being careless, killing myself with the insanity of an overloaded schedule, hoping to help some before I wore out. Broke completely. Since they've been gone, I've never wanted anything but silence, because what could be sweeter then hearing them?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. And nothing is what I've wanted for so long." Liquidity flowing through her voice as tears could not. Not yet.

"Until I met you. And feeling happy feels like betrayal, Lucifer. How do I deserve that after what I've done? How do they? So you see…" her quiet voice turned to the same low, disbelieving laugh she gave him in his elevator hallway the night she saw his eyes change. The laugh that let him know she was skating on the edges of her reality, "…so you see, don't you? No matter what, I'm trapped as always: powerless as always. It never changes, though circumstances may."

Finally she looked at him.

"It doesn't even for you. And if something – some **one** like **you** feels trapped and powerless – what hope is there for the rest of us? More than you have fallen away from the perceptions we have of grace. You were just the first."

Mazikeen's words to him on the balcony yesterday, almost exactly. [glancing thoughts on that; he can learn more when comes together but not now]

But right now, what he most realized was that the fear he'd had that she was chasing the darkness near him, _even if she was not consciously aware of it as Mazikeen had warned_ , was unfounded. She'd stumbled and struggled finding her path, yes (like him), but this whole past year, their friendship, this **more**...she wasn't trying to disappear. Not anymore.

She was trying to survive. No, not merely that. Live. Wholly.

Maybe that's what he was for.

Maybe that's why she sought solace in him, more often than today, surprising both of them each time, really. Teaching him. Because she thought he could provide it, he did.

And how can one be a comfort if they are perfect? If the pain of imperfection is not understood? As he did, so well now. All kinds: his own, that of others in Hell…and comfort didn't necessarily mean soothing. It meant providing what was needed to get better, get beyond the error of the present. Removing the impurities before the metal was forged again. Punishing it out; a grueling but necessary process for some. He looked on as Canaan moved; she'd had to hurt him first, like some of those patients. Cut to cure. Hurt to heal. Break to bond. She'd nearly broken him to get here. Wide open to get ready for what was next for him.

She was facing the little trees now, on her knees with the box in front, head bowed.

But he wouldn't have to hurt her to help. Nothing could ever, **ever** hurt her worse than what she'd felt already in her life. Not even him.

Consolation was sorely needed here, not more pain. Respite.

 **That's what he was for**.

He said her name gently but she was focused; singing softly. Little phrases interspersed with words. He listened carefully. Waiting until she was ready.

_"Close your eyes; listen to my song…lullaby; sleep until the dawn."_

Deep breath. Rocking a little.

_"…birds are in their nests, and the cows are in the barn."_

_"The covers on your bed, will keep you safe and warm."_

_"Don't worry…I'll be beside you should you call…"_

One hand on her heart. Her scar. The other reaching out to the ground in front of the box. Shy, soft words. "Remember we used to do this together? I loved that. Thank you, so much, for that memory."

_"Dragons in the sky, flying with their golden treasures."_

_"And if you catch their eye…wishes granted more than you can measure…"_

_" I'll be beside you should you fall. Just go to sleep now, close your eyes…"_

Coming closer now, she was trying to breathe through it, melody skipping over the breaks in her voice.

_"The stars are on the lake, and the moon is shining bright – don't worry." _

_"I'll leave the light on in the hall…just go to sleep now, close your eyes…"_

Finally the tears began to fall. The deep ones she'd hidden until now. Waiting until she was strong enough to be here with them.

That cloak of warm certainty in transition now rested more snugly around him and he wrapped her in it, too. Took her in and held her close as she collapsed, all her armor shattered. Cradling her as sobs wracked her body the same way her scars did. Helping her to say goodbye.

After a long time she quieted, still clinging to him. Maybe now she could hear him. "I'm so sorry, love. I'm so sorry that happened to you – all of you."

"Thank you." A small sigh, shuddery still as she caught her breath. "But given the choice, I'd still have had them…better a little then not ever. I can't imagine that…" He felt her stiffen.

"Dear one, what?"

Canaan raised her head from his chest, looking closely at him. Appraising him gently. "Lucifer, this is something you can intrinsically understand now…what a parent can feel at the loss of their child."

He nodded.

"Don't stay away. Not forever. From yours…just don't. I think the only thing worse than losing my children, my husband - would be knowing they would not eventually come back if they could."

He chose silence, but nodded again. He'd been thinking of it more lately, too.

Just a few more diverse threads to weave yet.


	46. Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little sweetness to leaven the prior salt. Explicit scene for physical intimacy, marker in text pre/post.

[ - ]

Lucifer drove them back to his house, keeping an eye on her. Canaan was slumped over on the door of the passenger side. Not defeated, not anymore. Just exhausted. Parsed. Her eyes were open though, and focused on something far past the windshield of his car. Occasionally between gears shifting he'd reach a hand out toward where hers rested on the seat. She clasped it loosely each time, always letting him go easily. Not hindering his control of the powerful machine carrying them. Soon enough they were back and he walked behind her up the steps, gauging. Her stride was strong, but showed weariness as well.

"Hungry?"

"No…just tired. Going to lie down a bit, okay?" Not running away. Mending.

He watched her walk into his bedroom and open all the windows to the sea breeze blowing the curtains around before curling into a near-invisible heap under his blankets. Light and air and movement she'd chosen to recover with. Not dark and stillness. He left her alone for most of the afternoon, reading in a chair where he could see her. See if she needed him. Finally growing disquieted, he padded softly into his room as the angles of light changed, the sun moving to the other side of the house. Cooler now.

She was still napping, tucked in a ball around a pillow like a child would be. He slid in behind her, cautious. Not touching. Not wanting to wake or startle her. Just to be near. After a little while she turned in her sleep to him, abandoning the pillow for the warmth of his body. Curling against him. He could feel her breath on his chest and it eased the ache he still felt there from the morning's admissions. Lucifer brushed a soft kiss across her hair, mind empty and heart full. He closed his own eyes and just rested with her for a time.

Until he felt a hand on his own. Pulling him to lay it over her heart as she'd done for him so often. Life here. He felt the warmth of her, the pulse steady under his palm. Stronger than the scar over it.

[ - ]

After a few more minutes he felt her hand move over his neck, fingertips gently sweeping. She knew exactly what this kind of touch did to him and he felt his body quickening. The pulse under his palm was faster now too, more insistent. Like he was. He stroked his hand over her breast gently, feeling the little peak harden under his fingers. Like he was. He teased through the cloth and felt her slide her leg between his, pressing him between their bodies. Wanting. Like he was.

He moved to tilt her chin up to him, smiling a little at the discontented fuss as his hand left its work. Kissing her, slow at first, then deeper as he unbuttoned her shirt, taking his time, long fingers circling over the soft lace under the cotton. Maze had definitely chosen well when she'd retrieved some of Canaan's things from her house and he was going to enjoy it. He pushed to lay her back on the bed, settling himself between her legs. Feeling their clasping pressure along his flanks…she was strong.

Nipping gently through the airy lace with teeth and fingertips he tantalized her, smiling as her breathing altered, slender hips rising against his stomach. Feeling her hands run over his hair, fingers winding into it. Pulling a little. Dropping to stroke his neck…oh…just from that what she could do, how she could make him feel…he thrusted reflexively, the mattress a poor substitute. But the friction goaded him and he unclasped the bra to feel her skin under his mouth and hands. Wanting real warmth and reaction - not pretty torment. Not today.

He swept slowly back and forth across her, suckling, nipping, fingertips dancing, washing lingering stress away with his tongue until she was nearly twisted. Each sound from her made his body ache and he felt his own stress abate. Well, mostly. The rest was concentrated in one area in particular. It was becoming quite pressing, but still…he wanted more from her. For her. He ran his mouth down her belly, over smooth skin, over scars…it didn't matter anymore. It was all Canaan, and she was all he wanted.

The two small ties on her loose cotton pants were no match for a very gifted mouth…as she'd soon see differently. He rose off her to pull them free, looking down at the woman sprawled beneath him. Waves of loose hair flowed over his pillows, the Kintsukouri art of her body framed in the unbuttoned shirt. Half-closed electric eyes looking sideways at him as she clutched his bedlinens. All that power glowing at him and he lit up with it. That pull. Like nothing else. Because it was hers.

He settled back in, lips skimming over her navel, lower, lower…as she arched to him he pulled her legs over his shoulders. Feeling restricted in his own clothes, but relishing the contrast with her deconstruction. Soft mouth, soft tongue and tasting the tangy elixir of her body under the wide ripple of it. He'd enjoyed all humanity had to offer, but reveled in the differences between them. Women were like the oceans they'd all come from. Salt of life and fulfillment; this portion of them part of that legacy and he drank her in.

He felt her hands twist in his hair just as she did under his attentions. Hearing her cries. No sting in this sound; all pleasure and he was providing that. And he took his work at play very, very seriously. Slow strokes with a broad tongue, licking at her with the same waves her reactions were provoking in his own body. Hard, so very now…it hurt, but this pain was as delicious as she was. He focused on the small swell of her, a kiss, a lick…a suckle…yes, **that** had her legs clamped down on his ears. He grinned, despite himself. She could deafen him for all he cared. With one hand on her belly he'd still be able to feel her moan and the sounds she made would be in his memory forever anyway. Lucifer manipulated her like the hard candy she was, wanting her to melt in his mouth.

"Please…with you…please. I need you with me. Within me."

Never one to refuse a lady, especially one who'd unraveled him so completely with just her voice he rose on one elbow, finally, gratefully loosening his own buttons and zipper. One of Canaan's small feet flashed up, catching his clothes under her toes and as she extended her leg she stripped him.

"Impressive. Nice trick."

"Oh, just you wait." Unbuttoning his shirt. Still scenting the salt air and sunshine on it. On him.

"I don't know how long I can, actually…" He wasn't fibbing. And to make sure she couldn't either he replaced his tongue with his fingers, flickering lightly.

"You really are evil, aren't you?"

"Divine, more like - wouldn't you say?"

She giggled, gasping still, finally finishing with the buttons as he chuckled with her. She didn't bother removing the shirt, too close now. The soft material hung down around her and she felt safe and sheltered. And very aroused…by the inflexibility under her hand and loud groan as she stroked him, guiding, she knew she wasn't alone.

He'd wanted to prolong this, take their time but he just couldn't. Not now, not so stripped raw as they'd been. Maybe again later. Yes, again would be wonderful. But first, now needed addressed. **Right bloody now**. Her legs wrapping around his pulled hard and he heaved into her, crying out.

What this felt like…balancing on the cusp of detonation and she kept him together, kept that sweet yearning pressure on him, oh and now tightening…he couldn't stand it. Couldn't wait…and she couldn't either. Encouraging him to move, to rear up as she already was. Wanting to feel the muscles in his back torqueing she ran her hands over him, wanting him to relinquish control. Wanting him undone that way. Wanting **him**. And strong enough to get exactly what she wanted.

Her voice, pulling at him harder, "This is…so good…" And he knew she meant everything.

The waves on the ocean had nothing on the storm in the bed. He filled her as she sought. Over and again as he knew well now all she could take of him. Gave her the stability of his strength as she'd given her care to him. Felt her cloak him in her body like she'd done for his mind, safe, strong and… **oh** and now needing him, too. Dissolving around him, pleading for him to come with her, fall with her, but after each fall is a rise. And that's what he did, taking her with him. The stuttering shot of ecstasy through their bodies was different but shared. Filled and accepted: exactly what they both needed from the other. She clung hard to him, mouth pressed to his neck as he finally collapsed. He'd fall a thousand times over if he could only land here, with her. And she felt the same way. **She felt**. She did. He could sense it in the gentle touch of her hand, see it in the smile line he kissed at the corner of her mouth. Hear it in her sigh as she breathed him in. She was right. This is…so good. And like most good things, wouldn't last, but that did not make them any less so. Or mean more good things, although different could not come after.

But not today.

[ - ]

He kissed her busily with small pops from his mouth, fingers running over her face and her hair. Leaving her exasperatedly breathless. Lucifer finally stopped, chuckling. Nose to nose he asked her again.

"Hungry now?"

"Oh, **hell** yes."

Shared laughter. Best healer of all. Sorry sort of, Phae.

He gave her a light slap on the rear and smirked at her indignant snort he got up to search for his trousers…impressed she'd flung them a fair distance from the bed. Perhaps if she tired of swimming soccer could be a consideration. "What do you feel like eating? Maze did a fair job on stocking the icebox before she left so…what?" Noticing the wicked gleam in her eye and shaking his head. "I'd feel safer for my person if you had something you could chew on first, love. But I do so enjoy where your mind goes…" Lucifer laughed as she raised a haughty eyebrow.

"Coward."

He laughed harder as she sat up, crossing her eyes.

"Unless you have a strong opinion, how about just let me look and putter okay? I need to do…something menial. It's all been a rather lot lately." Canaan rubbed her forehead with the heel of one hand, feeling a little multidimensionally flexed. He sat down next to her. It had been. And wasn't going to let up yet. He felt her lean on his shoulder and the next words were a little surprising.

"Know what?"

"Mmm. No. Not wholly omniscient as I thought I'd mentioned." Little tease to bring back her light. He needed it as much as she did.

"I was thinking it's a shame you don't have a piano here. Love to have some background music for my upcoming Julia Child farce."

"My dear, with whom do you think you're dealing? Thought you'd learned a thing or two." He smiled mischievously as he walked out of the room. As Canaan got herself together and straightened his covers she heard music as she walked down his hallways and into the living spaces in the house. Tucked into a corner across from the living room couch with the long light of late afternoon bathing him was Lucifer. Playing. Playing beautiful music on a beautiful piano she was beautifully certain had not been there when she'd passed by earlier.

Some things required constant getting used to, she supposed.

He grinned impishly at the look on her face. "You've overextended that 'compartmentalization' bit again haven't you? You have forgotten with whom you're dealing with, yeah? Surprising. You certainly seem bright enough to keep a rather large tidbit of information like that in well in mind."

Not 'whom'. 'What'.

He looked perplexed at her expression so Canaan repeated the words aloud. It struck her again hearing herself say it. "Don't please." The second time he'd ever said this to her and it hit just as hard as the first. He pulled her in with suddenly stricken eyes and she came to sit beside him. This 'what'? This…completely confounding enigma she likely could not understand no matter how she tried. " **Please** don't. Not now. Not yet. Just let it be you and I for a little more, all right?" She was surprised to hear the scrape in his voice, but remembered how long he'd been stressed. Far longer than she. Far longer than she'd even existed as far as she knew. And far differently. With her legs backwards off the bench she lay her head again on his shoulder, arm circling his waist over his lap. Just sitting together in the light from the window. Both of them realizing he'd finally said it: as part of the design change was constant.

"Just let us be 'Lucifer' and 'Canaan' here for a bit longer, all right? Or…whomever."

She squeezed him. Saying this truth quietly for the first time and letting them both feel it. "No…that **is** my name. I chose it. That's who I am now. And it's who I've been with you, damaged mess though I am." She felt him relax, then strong fingers working through her hair as he rubbed her neck. "I understand 'mess', darling. Bit one myself of late."

"Bit less, I'd say." Canaan rose, smiling at him. "Now, how about we act like 'us' then…try to grab my ass while saying something lecherous, then play me something pleasant on your magic trick there, okay? And I'll go find myself an existential towel in your kitchen to sop up some of my self-absorbency."

She was pleased to hear him laughing as she walked away, "Such a strange one you are indeed."

"Oh, pot/kettle. And shove off. You love it."

He did. He wondered if she knew how much. He wondered if he did. They'd never said. He wondered what that omission actually meant. And wondered how it might change as he opened the shell of the nautilus.

They kept a mild superficial banter up as she fussed in his kitchen, listening to him string unrelated pieces of music as if on a melodic clothesline. Common theme of light and airy movements, but diverse arrangements. He'd so missed this pleasure he'd denied himself…it had been a long time, and she took a lot of joy in watching his. She was barely able to drag him away to eat and he was soon back at it, untouched tumbler on the side. Canaan curled into a corner of the couch with an untouched tumbler of her own, entranced.

"Sing, will you?" Remembering the first time she'd heard his voice and music in the piano bar. Like they were the only two present. As they were now.

He paused, smiling over his shoulder. "If you wish. Anything in particular?"

"Something that makes you happy."

Lucifer's eyebrows raised slightly. The request wasn't as simple as it sounded. 'Happiness' was a fairly broad spectrum and had a lot of complicated ties for him. Canaan watched as he thought, then saw his expression settle into…she wasn't quite sure what. When he mentioned, 'it won't be quite the same, but…' she just nodded. And listened.

And was amazed.

The aural tapestry of music flowing from under his hands was woven with brilliant threads from his voice…neither were like anything she'd ever heard, or imagined she could. And the fusion of both…

She'd experience with tragedies and it made her appreciate more the miracles she'd seen.

Now she was hearing one as well.

She could not understand his language decanting over the instrument's pour but felt as if she was finally catching an echo of the music she'd felt just beyond her range at the hot spring that cold winter day. It was transient and complete, powerful and gentle, fiery and soothing all at once.

And that voice.

What a gift.

And he was sharing it. Just as she'd asked. After a long time, but yet not nearly long enough he stopped. Just let the inexplicable words and notes fall away into wherever they'd come, and she missed it already. He turned, their eyes meeting.

Liquid fire and steady seas.

There could be no words after that. No finite shells of worlds or words would ever be enough, not after that.

She rose, extending her hand and led them outside. She needed to be free of walls and feel the wind under the stars on the shells of these bodies. They lay beside each other on the chaise and after a little while, he took her to where the music came from.


	47. Juxtaposition (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walks on the beach are a great way to sort some of what needs sorting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what a colossally royal pain in the seat! Wrote these last two chapters forever and a day ago and had decided I hated this one. With extra hate and some hate sauce on the side. Still not wildly thrilled but it’s a little better than it was (and far less cumbersome) with this last bit split in two. Just too many ideas too jumbled up to do in one. So, two more chaps after this. Naughty bit at the last, marker in text warning of it.

[ - ] The next morning was blissfully uncomplex for a welcome change. Uncharacteristically, they went back to sleep after mildly heated dawn conversation in which Lucifer reassured Canaan that yes, Amenadiel did indeed have the linear timeline issue well in hand and no, she was not missing days of work. He did understand it was concern for her patients and her team which triggered the worry, not spending the time with him (for which she was grateful). When she asked him how long Mena could keep it up she had not wanted to press beyond Lucifer’s cryptic ‘only an appropriate duration, mind’. Back in another transient bubble they seemed to be: one with a ticking clock. And if she was going to suspend disbelief and her normal tendencies to pick at incongruence well - then **all** in. So a further lazy doze, a breakfast in which Lucifer was relieved to see she was making up for yesterday’s stress-induced fast and a long walk on the beach let their minds wander to other issues. Rounding a point some distance down from the house they parked themselves on a high dune overlooking a large bay. Watching far-off dock activity and pleasure boats dotting the water was the backdrop for Canaan’s musing on more personally sized topics than the music-of-the-spheres performance of last evening.

She had to ask finally, the question that had been knawing at her. “Why did you leave so abruptly? Without…” Reasons? Saying goodbye? Anything at all?

Lucifer scowled. This felt like an attack, even though he knew why she was asking. She likely didn’t remember the disaster at her house, and he still didn’t know what she remembered of the accident preceding it. Well, he was no shrinking violet himself.

“More pertinent question darling, is why did you test Newton’s apple theory personally, hmm?

“You know why.” **Now** you do, she thought.

“No, I don’t. That hardship has been with you for…” He scrubbed his face in his hands, deciding to ask what he really wanted. “Why then, Canaan? I thought…after all that time…” _(all that time and you were finally willing to listen; I could tell you, learn to let you see **me** )_ “…that we were…” He stopped.

Started again quietly.

“I thought you were happy. You said…”

Oh shit, that had to stop RIGHT now. She bumped his elbow with hers, hard. “Not another word, just **no**. Not like that.” She could not hear that hurt tone in his voice. She was still hammering out the idea of worthiness in absolution of unintendedly consequential pain in others.

He paused, confused. Looking at her out of the corner of his eye as she struggled with something - her expression altering. Not just emotion now; more like confusion in general. “It wasn’t just…”

So it WAS what he’d feared. Always an opportunist, he spoke over her attempts to voice what she’d been confronted by, letting his irritation over this aspect show. “You were supposed to wake me up before you left. I didn’t want you out alone.” So much trouble saved if she’d just done then as he’d asked of her.

“Oh come off it. Granted, yes, looking back that would have been…”

“Intelligent? Responsible? Mannerly?”

“…a better idea.” She glared at him. “However, do you realize how absolutely condescending that sounded? I’ve taken care of myself for quite some time without any help. **It was a walk**, Lucifer, not a Kilimanjaro expedition. Why would I have thought any differently? It’s not as if you said anything specific…I thought it was just you being your snooty have-my-way-because-I want-to self.”

She watched him open his mouth to say something defensive and interjected quickly. “Besides, I **wasn’t** alone. I had your ferocious-looking donkey-sized dog with me…what could POSSBIBLY have wanted to bother us? I have **no** comprehension of what that…” she twisted her hands in front of her like the malevolence had twisted her mind. “…MALICIOUSNESS was.”

They were both quiet. Him because he knew and her because she didn’t. Feeling badly for different reasons. Then both speaking at once:

“I should have said more, explained…” / “I’m **so** sorry he was hurt, you have NO idea how very….”

Lucifer ran his left palm over his eyes and grabbed her hands with his right. “No. It’s my fault. That both of you were injured. And what happened after – at your house. And after that as well.”

She squeezed his hand in both of hers. “No, stop…”

“No. YOU stop. You frustrating creature. HUSH. Listen.”

She went quiet, but he could feel her glowering.

He sighed. How to explain something he didn’t quite understand himself? “You know what I am.”

“I think I’ve got a decent humanistic handle on **my** experience of ‘who’ you are. And some of that is still a little deckled around the edges. I’d be lying if I said I  understood ‘what’”.

He grinned; that was honest. And it was a perfect lead-in for him as well. “I could say precisely the same of you, my dear.”

“Oh please. Haven’t you bathed yourself in all sorts of human noise for…ever?”

The grin became a laugh. “Other than a few attempts at babysitting siblings in past millennia and my vacation-turned-enforced-sabbatical the last few years, no. Scantly as much as I’m given credit for: you people are distressingly myopic as I believe I’ve mentioned. But you’re not exactly par, nor the first ‘interesting’ human I’ve met, though **your** bit is somewhat confounding.”

“Women and men have been confusing each other for quite a long time. Don’t think there’s anything too supernatural-ly weird about that. I’d have stuck with the boy end of your interests – less perplexing.”

He side-eyed her. That had **not** been his experience.

“As I was saying…your dollop is strange on two ends. One, if it is what it seems, it’s a rarity and two… **you** seem to have **no** bloody idea. Which is even more unusual. And that, unfortunately has proved dangerously distressing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…and…I am so tired of beginning sentences to you that way. I’m not an idiot, I’m just…” She flipped her palms up with fingers open. “…flabbergasted. Still.”

“Well, of course you are. I’m quite spectacularly extraordinary even in this pared-down guise.”

“Thank goodness it hasn’t gone to your head or anything.”

“Truth never does, love.” He had no idea why she was rolling her eyes.

“Anyway…you were saying...” Lucifer tried a different tack. “What’s your experience with energy?”

“Pay the bill by the first of the month.”

He dropped his chin and pursed his lip at her. “Noooo…such as oh, how are you people calling aspects of it? Meditation? Reiki?” He was met by a blank stare from the pragmatist. “Martial arts less esoteric for you…particularly Tai Chi?”

“Kung Fu Theater on childhood Saturday afternoons not what you had in mind?”

“No. It is not.” He puffed his cheeks and blew out slowly. Across the bay a small sailboat caught a breeze that giddered it across the water to the surprise and delight of the bored kids sunning themselves on the deck.

She took pity on him. He WAS trying to get something across…it just felt like there was such an undercurrent of stress about it. And the selfish part of her just wanted to enjoy him; enjoy this limited little oasis of time they had together while it lasted. But finally curiosity won out…mostly. She flopped back on her elbows and nudged his hip with her foot, mirroring her long-ago actions the day of Saul Prendergast’s attempted hearing. Except now she followed it up by digging her toes in the sand under his rear. At his growly, ‘behave, woman’ attempt at rebuke she tossed ‘well where’s the fun in that _then yes yeah mind hear’_? He chuckled, tension easing.

“Try again – I’m listening. Tell me what you want me to know.” Her words almost the same as well. And this time, he did.

“I’ve told you I can’t remember everything. Without my wings I’m…’clouded’.”

Behind him, she nodded. Listening to the timbre of his voice and pressing her foot against him in support for the discomfort in it. He slid a hand down to her ankle, touching her gently. Thanks.

“But some things I do…at least strong impressions. I don’t know why that is, either.” He blew another long exhale out. This time trees above the bay on the opposite side rippled, releasing a flock of birds to ride like smoke on the currents of warm air. Canaan took that in, balancing herself between attention and astonishment.

“And one of the things I remember…a hateful legacy of my fall, is the malevolence you’d experienced.” He felt her stiffen slightly, and he laced his fingers around her sandy ankle. “It’s not something I **do**. It’s something created from that event: the hunger of the vacuum, if you will. And it **is** hungry, Canaan, insatiably…make no mistake. It is absolute cold and oblivion and can never be warmed nor filled. It’s been circling me since time out of mind, siphoning off pain from those being purged in Hell.”

“Why is it here?”

“Because I am. It’s opportunistic.” he looked down at the sand before his feet. “And what’s near to me – proximally, or…” he lay his other hand on his chest then flickered it over his forehead, “…anything I’m close to is at greater risk. And the stronger the energy the more intensely that darkness will hunt it.”

He sighed.

“Despair, despondence, depression…all these things it uses to ‘fatten up’ what it feeds on. Myself included. And since it can never be satiated this will never end. My fall is responsible for that, though I never wished it to be so. Do you have any idea of how horrifying that is? How repugnant?” He took his hand away from her, crossing his arms over his bent knees and leaning his chin on them. Watching the spume blowing off the whitecaps in the bay.

“Until I can go home, this won’t end. And I can’t…or don’t remember how to do that. Or exactly why I’m gone, really.”

He looked up into the sky, where a train of cumulous clouds was chaining over the sun. Dimming the light over them, though it sparkled on the water further out.

“Heaven and Hell are all around us, all the time. Just different energy planes”. Quieter. “It’s what makes banishment so painful…it’s all just **right here** …barely out of my reach…I can feel it.”

She sat up, leaning into the side of his body. “If you’re not doing it on purpose…it isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it? Don’t you feel responsible for awful things you never intended? That happened anyway?”

“Yes….you know that. But, I think I might be able to eventually **learn** to feel sorry that they happened, dreadfully so, without the intense degree of complete responsibility. I’m far too small and inconsequential to battle entropy completely on my own. I can only change what I can. It’s actually a little….freeing to consider.” **It was**. “Try that thought on. You’re not  quite top of the food chain after all, right?” She nudged him a little.

“Pretty close.” His tone was somewhat pompous, but he appreciated the sounding board.

“Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

“Honestly, the ridiculous statements you people come up with amaze me, and not always in a good way.” But he chuckled, tension broken. They both squinted a little as the sun made a reappearance, dazzling their eyes with reflections off the water.

“Head back, shall we?”

“Not quite yet.” She laced an arm though his and leaned her cheek on his shoulder, the soft material pliant over his skin underneath. She closed her eyes. Feeling the windblown warmth of the sun contrasting with the malleably solid heat of the sand beneath them. Tang of salt in the air; nearly tasting the scent of it as she inhaled deeply. Hearing the layering crash of the waves, near and far. Seabirds crying overhead, their clarion voices stippling the embroidery of sound surrounding them. Canaan could hear extraordinary music everywhere in the mundane now, thanks to Lucifer. And she just wanted to listen a little longer. Simply wanting to simply be, with this errantly displaced musician.

>

They did finally roust themselves and Canaan rolled her pants legs up to splash in the far licks of waves running up the shoreline. Looking behind her to see her damp footprints disappearing under the lace-tinged water as if she’d never been, but **she** knew she had. Felt the cool water and slushy sand under her feet; immortal now and ever-present memory quilted over one another with juxtaposition of consciousness as the threads. Distinct but together indefinitely. Lucifer walked on the dry sand a little ways behind her, hands in pockets, thinking. He heard her voice and looked up.

She was standing in the waterline, foam washing around her ankles and holding a shell. A Nautilus. He paused for a moment, slightly apprehensive. She repeated herself, looking over at him.

“You never answered me. Why did you leave?”

He sighed, looking beyond her out at the horizon. “Because I’d hurt you. Was hurting you. And would not have been able to stop, whether I wanted to or not. Couldn’t. And it was quite nearly disastrous for both of us.”

She turned to look at him as he walked closer, confusion playing over her delicate features like her fingertips were playing over the shell. This one was completely split open, he saw.

“Why?”

He ran his hands over his face. He could barely explain just himself to her adequately. How could he make her understand this?

“Might need a drink for that one, love.”

“One of those conversations, huh?” The fact that she was chuckling, even despite the seriousness of his words and tone heartened him. Humans. Fascinating creatures, really. They never did cease to amaze, and he’d certainly met some prime specimens.

“Rather.”

Lucifer extended one of his hands to her as they continued back down the beach to the house. “So, what have you found there?”

“Future sand castles.”

What? “What?”

“A mollusk shell. It’ll be part of some kid’s imagination someday. Or a pearl etiology. Beautiful, huh?”

He watched Canaan rub her thumb over the delicate structures within the curve of the shell. What a strange way to think. Not just seeing and appreciating what something was, but what it could become simultaneously. Weaving diverse threads…and through time and space as well. Amazing creatures these were indeed.

After lunch, and ‘dessert’ of bourbon which Canaan declined, wanting to keep her head clear, they sat with their legs hanging over the sea wall of his porch watching the tide come in.

“Okay…enough cryptic delay, you weirdo. Give.”

Lucifer sighed. All in, then. “You’ve met two of my brothers in the past few days here. It wasn’t the first time.”

“So you said, and so did Amenadiel - Mena…but when – I don’t remember? And I certainly think I WOULD.”

“The first time at my house and the second time at yours, and both because you were hurt. Catastrophically and heading that way. Both my doing: the former by omission and the latter…otherwise.”

Canaan was quiet for a moment, remembering her conversation with Amenadiel. The information uprooted from buried memory she’d ‘triaged’ for later. “I said to him – Mena - that I recalled being injured worse than when I woke up – **before** he caught me.”

“You were.” Remembering the destruction; the near-total deconstruction of her body.

“He said you called him.”

“I did.” Begged. Demanded. Flamed for him to do as he’d needed.

She remembered the howling, the screaming as she fell. Neither her own. “I’m sorry. So very; you just don’t know – I never meant…”

He closed a hand over hers where it lay between them on the warm stones. “It wasn’t you; not all anyway. You know this now.”

She nodded, still looking down at the water washing closer below them.

“Mena called Raphael with my permission when he realized you were beyond his ability to help. My healing archangel brother did what he could; what you would allow him to.” To her slightly perplexed look he said simply, “Free will, darling…not even those divine can encroach upon it.”

Quiet for a minute, letting that sink in.

“You righted the rest yourself the other day.” He pressed her hand again, proud. Struggling against darkness like that was an ongoing process and that victory was hard-won, but **now** she knew she **could** _(and gratefully, so did he)._

Lucifer took a deep breath before continuing on. “At your house, the first night you came home…” Another one before starting again. “Raphael had warned me away from you. That I wasn’t helpful, nay, could be harmful - particularly weakened as you were. But I didn’t want to listen. And I was so very wrong. For **that** , Canaan, **I** am sorry.”

Her turn to press his hand. Solace shared in a touch.

He sat quietly for a moment, then continued.

“I realized he was right, and tried to leave…tried to quiet you, make you sleep so I could go and you’d be safe from the darkness around me.”

He looked up into the sky.

“It was a mistake. Not the leaving…but doing it that way. You fought me…struggling **SO** hard against that form of restraint – now I understand why, of course. But the darkness comes faster the more power it senses…and I was unable to settle you…even bringing pain to silence you…but it still wasn’t enough.” A ragged breath. “Hurting someone who’d been hurt; someone I....…an agent of torture…all I’d done for so long…all I’d initially left Hell to avoid.”

Another ragged breath before he went on.

“My brothers stopped it. Stopped me before either I destroyed you or the darkness following me did. After that…I could have no contact – how could I? You’d be in danger again, because of me. And I couldn’t bear it. After everything I could remember, everything I’ve seen and done…it was **past** enough.”

They sat in silence for a time. Finally he began speaking again, his voice soft, solemn. “Afterwards, I couldn’t stand to feel anything anymore…and _**all** I do is f **eel**_. It’s so very difficult to control without having my wings. I hid in excess, then in absence…and neither helped. I came here to ask (rage against?) my father for the answers he’s never given me. Nothing.”

“Until Maze brought you here. Brought my last joy and final nightmare here…and I hurt you. Again.”

She finally spoke. “You didn’t mean…it was an accident…”

He cut her off, not roughly, but with emphasis enough that she’d understand. “You understand accidents, don’t you? Sometimes knowledge otherwise isn’t enough to remove the stain of pain from those memories, is it?”

“No, you’re right. Not always and not yet.” Sometimes you needed to hear someone as they were, not as you wanted for them.

“But the reason you were in such danger from me is also a reason we’re here now – like this. Better.”

Lucifer looked over at her. The quizzical expression laying over her features wasn’t likely to get any cleared over the next few sentences. “You’re strong. Stronger than you know. Even my brothers sensed that.”

She was shaking her head, incredulous. “I certainly don’t feel that way. More ‘getting by as I can’.”

“It’s not important so much what you consciously feel like, but what you unconsciously **are**. All matter is energy condensed. Anything sentient is merely intelligent energy précised. Some mortal sentient beings can learn to manipulate the different values between those seemingly disparate relationships opening the power inherent in the spaces between. It’s a continuum, Canaan…a sliding scale. Not absolutes.” Lucifer realized that his conception of the Nautilus shell sections was wrong – too finite. Her concept of the sand created from living things becoming part of the work of imagination after mortal dissolution – that was closer. “And yes, you can do this. You have, you just don’t realize – which is the astounding part of it, really.”

“When?”

“More than a few times, actually, but the most recently spectacular was when you protected us from the violence you loosed when you tore my scars. However I began, **I am also** the Devil now, darling, in all his hideous glory. Pain, rage, brutality and the like are as much portioned in me as anything else. I **am** a mosaic of light **and** darkness; for without either both are null. Fully accepting that role for whatever portends is simply part of it all. And that…” realizing the power of his own earlier words, “…that is not just what I **feel** like, but what I **am**. Whether I wanted it or not.”

They were both quiet for a time afterwards, Canaan trying to digest what he’d said and Lucifer lost in his own thoughts. What he was….what he’d become. Accepting. Finally feeling ready to know more.

Elsewhere, Mazikeen and Cearrebus looked at each other, sensing the change in him. Soon, now. But not quite yet…

Lucifer was thrown quite abruptly out of his musings by a small, strong body landing on his lap.

[ - ]

“Well. It’s surely been quite interesting but think there’s been quite entirely enough of that heaviness at the moment, my friend.”

“Mmm…do you now?” He felt her legs press down on his hips, feet against the wall behind pulling them closer together. Her arms wound ‘round his neck and her tongue traced over the whorl of his ear. The ghosting reply of ‘oh absolutely yes’ sent quivers streaking right from the tiny patch of wet flesh careening all through his body. Sweet Heaven but he was so hard already…pressing right where he wanted to be if not for these blasted obstructing clothes. He made to move them off the sea wall to rectify that immediately but she clenched her feet tighter, anchoring them.

“What…are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” Warm smirk in that mischievously feminine voice.

And did he ever.She pressed herself so close to his body he could not get a hand between them, so he slid them down her hips and dragged against her, seeking friction at least if freedom was to be denied. Her mouth opened on one side of his neck and her nails scraped the other.

“Oh, you don’t bloody know how…OH!” He threw his head back as she sucked hard, tongue laving. Some teeth for good measure, too. Her nails swirled sharp spirals and as she crossed sides his eyes nearly did as well. Canaan kept her exploration of trailing suction up the other side of his neck and let her nails dig further. Lucifer did his best to be certain he didn’t fling them off the wall with his thrusts **and** tried to simultaneously fuck her through their pants. The fallen First Son and Lord of Hell was most absolutely NOT going to be thwarted by a few layers of mere cotton.

He growled, long and low and felt her chuckle. He opened his mouth to say something smart and she clamped a hand over it, eyeballing him in a dare. Well, he’d just show her…eyebrows flickering in sly warning he licked her palm. Exactly what she had been waiting for.

He felt her pull away a little _(no no **no** …you come back… **give** **me** what I **want** …)_ and with quick surgical precision she’d opened his fly and ran her wet hand down…

…as he nearly lost his mind at the twisting clasps. The teasing, tip-tickling fingertips. Now her other hand going lower, cradling, squeezing gently through the cloth. When her mouth landed on his neck again he’d had enough. He’d fallen hard once…so had she, and BLAST if either of them were going to repeat it with a sandy landing now. “You’d better hold on…and not to my dick either, darling….” He’d intended to sound appropriately menacing but by the laughter he supposed he was hard _(no kidding)_ to take seriously in his current state. Still, this body was 6’3” and hers…was most certainly **not**.

Lucifer upended them from the wall and directly into the small pool behind it, Canaan’s laughter arcing over them the whole awkward way. After a truly impressive splashdown he made quick work of their clothes, wet material flying everywhere as fast as he could fling it, giggling a little himself when she got trapped in one of her sleeves. Wait, the MorningStar didn’t ‘giggle’. Well. Screw that. He was the First Son of God and could do (almost) whatever he wanted. The wet, flushed and breathless woman tangled in front of him was about to become even more so on all counts.

He pulled her closer, clutching her free hand and running it down his belly…oh yes…again please… **more**. Her triumphantly snide expression didn’t last long as he swept his own hand down her body. Good. Now her turn for crossed eyes. He slid a long finger into her, followed quickly by another as his thumb circled over the small knot of nerves above. He milked that first orgasm out of her and had her well on the way to a second barely before she knew what was happening. Her hand twisting over him barely faltered though and he wanted more. And bloody well **now** would be most wonderfully opportune. He turned her easily, weightless in the water and without stopping the little circles he was driving her mad with slipped his fingers out and stroked himself in. The moan she let fly electrified him.

“Lucifer…oh my G-”

Grinning, he cut her off with a hard mouth on her neck. “Don’t you even…” and at her breathless laughter, bit though his smile. Well, by the way she clamped down on him THAT clearly was a good move on his part. Canaan followed it up with a few tricks of her own, locking her feet behind his legs and her hands behind his neck: a trellised vine rippling in liquid current. He suddenly wanted more hands to touch her more places. Barring that fun little fantasy, the reality was actually quite splendid. Cool pool, warm bodies, splashes of laughter and water under dappled sunlight and shade and most fun of all, well on their way to a very…oh, yes… **OH** yes… **OH YES**…yes indeedy - a very satisfying mutual climax.

Still laughing, she spun to face him, clinging with strong legs and arms. He just looked, grinning at this beautiful disaster who’d threaded light into his darkness and joy into his pain, helping to pry him free of both. Lucifer smiled wider as he knew he’d done the same for her. Reflexively he opened his mouth to say…

Apparently nothing. She brushed two fingers over his lips, shushing him silently. Her eyes still twinkled and she was all blush and smiles herself. Not sad, not guarded. He asked her ‘why?’ with his eyes but she just shook her head gently and gave him a kiss that cleansed away any lingering doubts he might have had.

Oh. It was the word itself. Those four letters. She’d had that. So had he. And they’d both had losses of different kinds after….and this one coming was going to be another. And this way…this was…wholly theirs. Not shared by sheer refusal of explicit definition. Well fine…as he’d said long ago, ‘meaning sluices through words like hot water through ice…only symbols of feeling or ideas’. And they had both….and best of all, complete knowledge of.

Speaking of, ‘carnal knowledge’ was also quite fun, as was ‘more’: one of his favorite words in a myriad of languages, and so long as they weren’t talking aloud he asked her with his eyebrows above and very best devilish gleam below. And the strong palm on her ass might have been a hint as well. And quite pleased with her smiling answer.


	48. Juxtaposition (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends...or...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Huron has a song called 'Brothers', which came to mind during (what will be) an obviously applicable scene in this chapter.

[ - ]

Canaan felt them arrive almost as he did. They'd sprawled on the chaise for some al fresco drying off under the shaded breezes and suggestively linguistic jousting. She felt Lucifer tense slightly as she sat up. Trepidation? Anticipation? Both? More? She rose off the cushions, bath sheet clutched around her and looked over the seawall. Mazikeen and Cearrebus were some ways up the beach, sitting on a dune with their backs toward the stone staircase. This was…very much not a social call. She'd always been apprehensive around Maze, even before her party tricks but this was the first time she'd felt wary of Cearrebus: the potential mayhem of him. She felt Lucifer come to stand behind her; even clothed only in a towel as he was she was crucifyingly aware of the distinction between her lover vanishing and their lord appearing. The power inherent here was palpable…otherworldly. As indeed he was.

"I'll go." She said this quickly and quietly, heading toward the house. Paused when she felt him grasp her elbow.

"Dinner later – out or in?" Just as when she'd seen him in dark winter gear, looking every tall inch a fierce warrior his bearing was nearly regal: the effect overwhelming. She'd seen him through a myriad of emotions: joyful, silliness, arousal, upset and fury...the change now was so far above and beyond any of those: the breathtaking awe of true divinity. The what of the who. But his eyes, these still had their familiar twinkle for her. She was too far enmeshed to be frightened of him now. And he'd asked, so…

"In. Don't want to share."

He smiled, squeezed gently and released her to turn away toward the stairs. Clothed instantly in a low-collared sashed vest and long skirt in crimson-trimmed grey. Changeable hues of choking smoke and eternal fire cloaking the wielder of both.

Oh…what the actual…any number of desperately anemic epithets.

Canaan shook her head, feeling an immediate need to do something completely within her own power to control and scorch off some of her nervous energy. She hurried through the house to his personal rooms, finding the little piles of her items Maze had brought. Running clothes? Yes. Sneaks? Yes. She'd rather swim but did not trust her breathing capabilities enough for that element at the moment, and did not want to be seen by the three, either. As she passed by the kitchen she paused. Dinner here was her stated preference and she did not know how long he'd be, so…after a few minutes of preparation she was out the door moving quickly down his driveway, gravel crunching underfoot.

Heading south on the quiet road Canaan just listened to the metronomely steady sound of her own footfalls and her breathing, trying to quiet her mind. She eventually began to settle, but it took her passing through the little town and all the way up the other side of the bay they'd seen this morning to do so. She saw a pull-off for a scenic overlook and paused there with hands on knees, panting. Glad they had a water fountain as she had not planned ahead effectively; just escaped. Thirst and apprehension quenched, she slid through the bars along the bluff and walked to sit on a huge outcropping overlooking the ocean. Finding solace as always in earth, wind and water.

"Careful now."

The deep voice was almost in her ear. She would have startled in surprise had she not recognized the resonance and gentle humor. Amenadiel. She grinned, patting the spot on the broad flat rock beside her. "Not at the pow-wow?"

He chuckled as he settled beside her. "My presence isn't needed. They are his, not mine."

"Sure about that? On one count, anyway."

He laughed harder. She could be bold, this human; no wonder his brother was intrigued. "Maze is…Maze. And we are…" he opened his hand, "…well, we've got time to discover more of all that." He then cringed at little at his choice of words. He'd not meant to be insensitive, and most mortals were quite frail in matters of the heart, he'd seen.

She heard the pause, and nudged his knee with her own. "I've had more time, on more counts than I thought possible with him. And you to thank for most of it. I'm grateful, and so appreciate what you've done – are doing. Such a gift."

Amenadiel looked over at her. Canaan was resigned, but smiling at him, purity of intent intact. She'd be as fine as she could. Eventually. Still…some things could be made easier.

"Want a lift back?"

"Would I ever! How many women get to be repeatedly swept off their feet? As in, actually?"

 

>

 

The First Son of God, The Lightbringer and Star of the Morning banged through the screen door to be greeted by a quietly empty house and scent of something delicious slow-roasting in his oven. Such small human things, sharing food and friendship. Such comforts. Sand for their castles. He walked through his kitchen, shedding his regal trappings to exchange them for something more ordinary, a glass of scotch and a seat at his piano. He'd so very badly missed his music, and was glad she'd suggested it. The stove timer indicating another hour said he shouldn't worry about her yet…and knowing now what he did, he relished this solitude to truly become Lucifer again. For now. For her. For them both for this last little bit of joy he wanted here. But the fingers playing over his keys did not stifle the reflections on the conversations he'd had. He went still, dapples of long afternoon light playing over his shoulders. Thinking.

He'd learned his 'crippling'; his loss of wings and subsequently his memories of the fall and before were of his own doing – **not** a punishment. 'Why' was still hidden. And **why** was **that**? He'd not asked the one who could answer. Not yet.

He was **not** broken as he'd feared – just sequestered within Mazikeen, Cearrebus and this 'Lucifer'. It had taken him helping someone broken to begin truly healing…someone who had been strong enough to withstand him and be willing to sacrifice to engage him to right himself first. An infinite Mobius strip of action and reaction. A primer of mortal humanity for the extrapolation of his angelic nature.

He had chosen to separate himself after the fall, terrified he'd made a mistake, terror and fear being new to him and as large in scope as joy and wonder had been before. Forbidding that knowledge to his handiworks and so permanently losing it himself until Amenadiel made the discovery while healing Cearrebus, then seeking further in the only other creation of his oldest brother's: Mazikeen. He was coalesced now, greater than the sum of his portions with certain memories absent still without his wings. He did now recall asking for them to be taken. Not why, only that it had seemed of utmost importance. He hadn't the foresight then to realize the pain of uncertainty would be so brutal. Nor realizing how badly their loss would affect not only him, but those responsible for following his wishes. The only ones strong enough to warp his perfection while removing them. Michael. Gabriel.

And his father.

Mutilating him as he'd asked, nay demanded despite the wrenching pain it had caused them all to do so. Free will. He'd clouded his own mind and memories with the loss and spent all the time after railing against the effect. They must have been horrified and sickened in the aftermath.

'My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?' Oh these words. The anguish he'd felt saying them over the eons, hearing them from others. He'd been so very angry, incensed as only he could be upon hearing the cries of his youngest brother in the depths of despair here. Coming to collect him for a respite after those… **stinging insects** professing empty love had slaughtered his physical body. Scoffing at the professions of friendship, admiration, affection…none of THOSE had saved Yeshua, had it? Raged silently against a father who would allow this pain to befall a supposedly beloved son…his own pain of vilification. Blame. The ascribing of slander and wrongful attribution to his name. But God had stopped this pain for neither. Free will for the taking for those who'd asked for it. As he had, without remembering. Yeshua had, then forgiving and rising. Satan could not ask for intervention, even as his brother had. Yeshua pleading with him to no avail. Rage and pain was what he'd long known and he sheltered in these, shunning all else. Not realizing the pain his own family was enduring being aware of his.

Empirical knowledge required for some it seemed. Like him. Like these creatures. And it was being held here, exposed to these…snuffs of divine sentience that had begun to teach him the primer for the language of true angelic emotion he'd forgotten; far removed himself from. That Cearrebus was strong enough to hold for him until he was ready. As today. This had been…so very difficult. It still was, newly returned and he felt precarious, still.

Mazikeen's portion had been easier; more familiar. Less taxing to reabsorb. She held his access of deeper constructs of intelligence and rationality. Very little emotion at all, nearly…a planner, an austere architect of pure thought. What did these humans call it? Schizoid? His demon as an overly-rationalizing creative mentalist. Perfect for the Overseer of Hell which was one of the main roles he'd had for her when she was created. He could appreciate now how difficult her journey had been these last few years, and was slightly chagrined at being so impatient with her progress.

But Cearrebus…his portion had been far more painful to reconnect with. He'd actually asked Mazikeen to leave them for a time, knowing how difficult it would be for her to understand, far though she'd come. It was why he'd fashioned this guardian to be so formidable: intelligent but silent. Protecting this most dangerous aspect of his creator's identity. Lucifer had been mildly stymied by learning to navigate emotion even on the limited human level in his time here. This had been…nearly crushing by its very nature. But he felt and understood much more after now…enough to realize how much more was waiting for him. He'd held onto the fur of his animal's neck afterwards gasping with the strain of the change. Looking past the scars to the deep blue of his eyes. "Thank you my friend…for this, for everything. Got one more thing to ask of you, if you will…"

They walked together for a time afterwards, these immortal three, Lucifer appreciating them with the knowledge and understanding of an unfolded origami paper: wide open and lines of pattern obvious now. Knowing change was coming. Willing, now.

He was ready. Nearly.

Lucifer looked up from the bench as a shadow crossed the piano. Amenadiel.

Slightly discomfited to see him…wait…"Everything all right, then?"

"Yes brother. Came to drop off a 'friend' and see how you were, after."

"Friend, hmm? And I'm…" Lucifer sighed, not feeling up to playing their game. Just wanting his brother's company. "I'll be fine. I'll be me. Perhaps more so than I have been in ever so long. Still…"

Amenadiel walked to the window, looking out with hands clasped behind his back. "The constancy of change doesn't mean ease, does it? Not even for us."

"Perhaps most especially not for us, capable of more of it as we are. Especially me."

"Perhaps…I see you're still acting an arrogant ass with healthy self-absorption tendencies though. So refreshing, for a change." Teasing.

Family. No matter what kind…sometimes you just wanted to toss them out the window. Lovingly.

"I'll see you soon, brother." Lucifer felt strong hands clasp on his shoulders as Amenadiel spoke the words softly near his ear before disappearing, smiling at the one entering the room.

Lucifer looked over. Canaan was flushed and windblown, eyes focused on his as she approached. Sitting near him on the bench, not wanting to get too close…yet. For a few reasons.

"Are you all right?"

He smiled. He'd rent himself asunder from himself, from Heaven, was capable of all manner of vast violence and…and perhaps again _(oh how he hoped)_ , maybe vast joy…and she wanted to be sure he was 'all right' after a difficult conversation. Funnily enough, he suddenly was simply because she'd asked. Folding the origami back to human parameters, just now fully aware of the pattern in the project.

"Yes love. Come here." He reached out for her.

"I'm covered with road grit…" She held mildly protesting hands up before herself, more protection for her **from** this… **what** of him than  for him from her dirty clothes. Hating herself a little bit for it, but…

"Stop it now. Just be." Words he'd said before to her and the effect was the same. Letting him pull her she laid her head on his shoulder, lacing her arm though his. Quiet. Wondering if he'd tell her anything. Him wondering if he should.

Until the timer went off.

He sighed, running fingertips over her cheek. "Saved by the bell again, darling…" Watching her walk away toward his kitchen and opening the oven door. "What **do** you have going on in there?"

She chuckled, a little wryly. "A quite pedestrian pot roast and vegetables. I wasn't sure how long you'd be so…but we can do whatever you want, really. Anything is fine." Realizing more than she wanted to.

"Nope, that sounds lovely. And smells even better…well…most things do." Looking pointedly down at her sock feet in mock horror.

She started laughing and they both relaxed. "Classy. Still. Nice to know some things haven't changed."

"Some things won't, darling. Of this I assure you." He was quietly earnest here, and she appreciated the intention if not the logical feasibility.

Canaan smiled at him a little sadly, but unwilling to delve deeper at the moment. "Well, some things SHOULD change, and right now, I am definitely one of them." She chuckled, holding her sweaty shirt away from her body. "It's still pretty early to eat…I might go for a quick swim. Unless…"

"Go on, not starved. Enjoy." They both needed a little more time to readjust. And prepare.

Lucifer played for awhile, for once not overthinking, or thinking at all really, which was quite pleasant for a change. He'd miss the sensory-ness of these mortal planes, that was for certain. Canaan appreciated the long dip in the rough sea as the focus required to navigate through the strong waves was an excellent distraction. And ocean exposure was a wonderful excuse for the slightly reddened eyes and salty cheek he kissed as she hurried through his house to his bath. Dinner afterward was pleasant and mild, just enjoying each other's company. Lucifer had decided not to go into a lot of detail about his discoveries this afternoon, simply because of those divergent 'frames of reference' Canaan had accused him of not being appropriately aware of during their hot springs conversation. However, she was intelligent and deserved SOME effort, so when she'd tentatively asked he replied with a question of his own.

"Do you speak Japanese?"

Her quizzical look was reply enough.

"Right. No. So me butchering some explanation in your human words, Queen's English or otherwise, would be like explaining it in Japanese. Through a malfunctioning phone. To a deaf person, no less."

She narrowed her eyes at him over the dinner table, not sure if she felt relieved or irritated. Maybe both. He did tend to have that effect. Speaking of… "Perhaps so, but I can tell affect, though…you seem more…settled within yourself. Comfortable in your own skin. Is that accurate?"

He smiled. It was. "Yes, you could say I'm more 'pulled together' now. It's been…quite a long time, actually. I'm more able to be aware of what's been missing; to sense what's waiting."

"The 'what' of who you really are. All of it?"

"Something like."

She spoke softly, musing. "So now you'll get that. All that…."

"I do. I will…I hope."

"And, 'she asks myopically feeling odd' that makes this what? Less?" She looked down, tracing the end of her knife in small broken circles over the tablecloth.

No, no. He wasn't ready for this bubble of iridescence to pop. Not yet.

He startled her by leaning quickly over the table, clutching her hand as the knife clattered down dully onto the thick cloth. He drew her fingertips to his mouth, kissing and biting at them as she gasped in surprise. Ceasing just as quickly to rapid-fire questions at her as he pressed the soft pads. "You can feel that, Canaan? Not just here? But…deeper, more completely, yes?"

"Yes." She was aware of this touch absolutely everywhere. It made her head spin.

"It's the same."

They stared at each other, both breathing deeply.

"This isn't about ratios, or size or potential. Some things…some **truths** …they just are. And even the small influences can have great effect."

Another moment passed in quiet while she tried to simultaneously grasp the totality of what he'd expressed **and** convince herself that leaping over the table while stripping would be considered bad manners by anyone's estimation.

"You could have just _said_ …always so dramatic."

He laughed, heartened. "Well darling, where's the fun in that?"

The rest of dinner went by far more easily, just two enjoying each other's company. Cleaning up afterwards Canaan chastised herself aloud for not thinking about dessert…Lucifer had a bit of a sweet tooth apparently and there was no chocolate in sight. "Oh, don't you fret, pet…I've got _such ideas_ …." She shrieked in delight and surprise when he palmed a peach from the fruit bowl and crushed it in his fist over her shoulder, juice and pulp running down her neck. Followed by his tongue. Followed by them falling to the floor with the rest of the bowl's contents as terrifically messy fun ensued with less clothing and more Vitamin C. He finally scooped her up, mess disappearing with a wave of his hand _('oh nice trick', 'rather, don't you think?')_ both still gasping and laughing to head into his shower.

Keyed up from the exertion and the feeling that she was standing in the path of a freight train bearing down, Canaan was a little rough with him as he kissed her under the flowing water. He paused for a second, taking in her eyes…she was aroused, yes, happy to be here with him, true…but she was also angry. This separation wasn't going to be fair. It was just going to be.

He goaded her. "Do it."

"Do what?"

" **Be** angry. **Show** me…remember **all** of who I am, and what I can enjoy."

"Lucifer, I..." he could feel her feinting and could not allow her to hide. Not now. So he ran his hand through the back of her long wet hair, pulled to expose her throat and as he bit her, growled, "Show me your devil, darling…"

Did she ever. He was quite impressed.

And when it was over, ears ringing from their cries echoing off the tiles, both shaking and satiated, last of the blood circling the drain as his wounds healed from her bites and scratches, it was then that she let the end of her anger go with tears that the water washed away as it had everything else.

He dried them carefully, combing through her long hair and braiding it back as he had seen Maze do. Led them silently to his bed and lay back, pulling her over to sheath him. Pressing her to sit up…he wanted to see, everything. See every expression she made as he touched her. Slowly, carefully he rocked them, running his hands over the muscles in her legs, his own raised slightly behind her in support. He traced her scars, all of them. Even though she'd said they were numb the twists and cries she offered in exchange spoke otherwise. Moving more strongly now, her hands pressing the rhythmic clench of his musculature, fingers digging for purchase in the waves. He gripped her hands in his, bringing them to his hips, anchoring her. He was all masterful control here, aware of everything she was feeling and bringing her over and again beyond the brink, dragging her up to repeat until she was nearly sobbing for breath and going weak in exhausted pleasure. Only then did he roll her quickly, grateful to feel her pull him in, sated though she was. More so to hear the soft moans at his ear, wanting him still, in any way he could offer. So much more of him than this…but **oh** this; also so very good. Canaan's last cries electrifying him as Lucifer finally stopped holding back, so strong, so hard, so very ready and needing her so badly. Crying out in a final release and then crying himself, silently. He was as close, physically and figuratively as he could be to another here and she embraced him. All of him. And he would miss her.

She'd not wanted to sleep, not wanted to miss a minute with him, but being mortal and pushed well beyond her limits in the last few days, sleep came unbidden as he held her. Following himself after a time. At some point during the night he rolled to his side and as her habit with him, Canaan curled in, arm draping loosely over his ribs. Caught between the gray area of dreaming and sleeping she kissed him, kissed the scars marring his perfection. Breaching. Lucifer's eyes flew open.

He was frozen.

Petrified.

Aware of being in a bed, in a body, but yet not.

Scars. Someone touching his scars. Several. Keening wails as his wings came away…not just his own, confused as his mind clouded…left with only scars and agony. Alone.

Alone with his scars. Alone in the stars.

Within a star? Light and power inside darkness. His own light, new. The new light of a first morning. Herald from the dark to the light.

Not the dark of despair, but of creation. Not the light of scorching fire, but of illumination.

His place, between the dark and the light.

Now more…

And with more, joy, and with joy compounded, expression and with this expression…the music of creation… **his** music. And the Heavens sang, and he with them, with them all.

And it was wonderful.

Wondrous.

But some notes gone missing, lights winking out. Empty spaces within the space.

_'…the only thing constant is change…'_

**No!** I'll find them. Recover them. Wanting perfection in his songs, even if it took time.

_'…discover pain on that path...more will come…more will need…'_

What is stronger than I, after you?

_'…not for you…'_

I choose it.

_'…please, not for **you** …' _

I **choose** it.

Breathlessly he was released and he blinked rapidly as he reoriented himself to this time, this place…this chrysalis he had now outgrown. Stricken, he rolled back to where Canaan lay against him, still sleeping, but the glow of her spread over them on the bed. Protection, unintended as always but still present. 'Oh God,' he thought, gathering her to him, seeking the comfort he'd found in her. '…is this why? Why I separated, why I wanted my wings gone, so by understanding… **truly** understanding pain in others I could help recover them? Is it?'

'And maybe by recovering myself, also my other bonds…my…God?'

He clutched her tighter, shocked and in awe at the possibilities. She broke the surface of sleep, confused. Brushing her hand over his cheek. Murmuring, "Love, are you all right?"

He smiled at her using his word, and tucked her closer, this strange human with the strange power. "Yes, all fine….just a strange dream. Shhh, mine…"

>

 

When she felt him quietly leave the bed before dawn she didn't move. Couldn't. They'd already shared goodbye and even knowing as she did it would be just too much to endure again. She was on her stomach with her arm around one of his pillows _(he **couldn't** be gone…his scent was still here; the warmth of his body…)_ and tried very hard to maintain the deep soft breaths of sleep. She could hear him rustling a little as he gathered clothes and then drew back the curtains. Making sure she'd wake to light – she tried not to smile at the last little careful effort he was leaving her with.

And then he was gone.

Canaan kept still, her eyes shut tight, fighting back the ache in her throat and the sting of more tears behind her eyelids. Just **no**. She'd deal with it all later; she'd learned well enough that some things just took time…and she had that in spades now. Against all odds, she did fall back to sleep; mentally exhausted and comforted by his blankets in the bed they'd shared.

When she startled up a little later, the sun was well on its way to rising, room brightening through the morning mist but the light coming in the open curtains wasn't what had woken her….was it? No, it was a sound. More than one.

Laughter?

And….what else?

The laughter she recognized **(!he was still here!)** but the other? She opened her eyes, wide, at proximal breathy whines.

And promptly had them licked shut.

"Lucifer?! What the actual fu-?"

More deep laughter sliding to giggles. It was so delightful and he sounded ridiculously endearing when he did that. But it was coming from across the room as were the words trying to percolate through it. "Now, now then. Curb that naughty tongue; shan't have any profanity in front of the baby, love."

She said it again regardless, just inside her head this time as she struggled to a sit. Couldn't have said it aloud anyhow seeing as her whole face was under wet attack. She reached her hands out, blindly and grasped warm furry wriggliness.

WHAT?!

At arm's length and trying desperately to finish the job of licking her face off, a wolfish puppy the size of a small goat wobbled under her hands. A brindle-coated smiler with deep brown eyes, big feet and brush tail in grave danger of wagging right off the fuzzy rump. So like Cearrebus except for the eyes, size and darker striations. But had all his unbridled joy barely contained. Canaan was completely at a loss for words, looking down at the end of the bed where Lucifer had come to sit, laughing still as the dog tangled in blankets was trying to leap back and forth between them. The fuzzball worked free and piled back into Canaan, rolling upside down in her lap demanding her belly to be rubbed.

"Lucifer...what…?"

"First off, don't worry. Yes, she's got a touch of 'magic' from mine, his gift, but she'll not be too gargantuan as she grows. Mortal too – you are, so it would not be fair otherwise - but she'll be with you, hale and hearty for quite a long time. If you want her, that is."

"Are you kidding?! I can't even…" Laughing as she fought off determined puppy kisses. "I thought you'd left…"

"Not without saying goodbye, love. Not like that. And I was selfish enough to want it to be easier."

"So resting on cliché then. Get the broken-hearted girl a pet to occupy her?" Still laughing as the puppy chewed her fingers. "Ouch! Rascal!"

He twinged on the inside at her words - of course it would still be searingly difficult; for both of them, but he was tickled at her reaction. "Yes…is it working?"

"Oh YES!"

"She needs a name."

Canaan looked up at him, a little wary. "She doesn't have one yet?" It would have been simpler. Names came to her easily, just like this one had. More of a reminder, though.

"She's yours, not mine, so…nope." Popped "p".

Canaan held the fluffy jowls and looked past the needley smile into the deep brown eyes of the dog. The puppy's own shade, but very reminiscent of some favorite others. "Hello, Schroeder. It's nice to meet you. We'll be great friends." She looked over at the puzzlement Lucifer had playing over his expressive eyebrows and giggled. "'Peanuts' was a favorite comic strip of mine as a kid; funny and yet not shy about delving serious, too. Schroeder is the musician of the group, piano player actually…" she laughed to see him puff his chest out, "….and the beloved thorn in his side is Lucy."

"Really, then. Thorn? And she's female, you know." But he was smiling, pleased on several counts.

"Oh, so NOW gender issues throw you? Bit late to work on that I think."

"'Fraid you're right. Well, being mortal, she needs to eat…and please darling, not that petrified croutonish bagged nonsense passing for animal sustenance. Figured that would not be a problem since you seem to have a constant barrage of foodstuffs going on anyway – hey! No violence in front of children!" Ducking at the thrown pillow. "Pull yourself together, love. We'll see you in the kitchen." And off they went, fuzzball under his arm, all earnest wag, wiggle and lick, Lucifer chastising her rambunctiousness to little avail. For the moment, Canaan just flopped back on the bed, beaming smile directed at the ceiling. This…was perfectly imperfect and she could not have asked for more care.

After breakfast they took Canaan's balm to the beach to run along the waves and yap at life. Not talking...there wasn't enough time for everything they'd want and all the most important things had been said and heard already. They sat on the last step of his stone staircase and watched the sun begin to break through the haze over the waves. The new reflections of spangled light mirrored the ever-present sounds of surf break…just because something wasn't seen didn't mean it was absent. Simply appreciated differently. As an attempt at a tiny baying howl set them both laughing, Canaan called the dog away from where she was belly-deep in the surf, attention piqued at something over the water. She stood as Lucifer gathered up the whining puppy, handing over the blessing of sandy salty responsibility to her. He gripped her hand, pressing it to his mouth as he had the first time they'd met, dark fathomless eyes saying more than his words ever could.

Canaan needed him to know they'd be all right, eventually. Just not yet. "Goodbye, friend."

He smiled, backing away then turning to walk slowly to the waterline, past it, hands in his pockets. Standing still, salt water crashing around his lower legs, palms down to feel the splash. To feel. The windblown fog was thinning under the rising sun and clustering into strange shapes…shadowy forms? Mena? Another, a glint of golden on the haze…more, surrounding him as he opened his hands in welcome. Being welcomed. One clear shaft of sunlight finally broke through, falling on the tall figure with dark hair and shining eyes. This time, when he looked up he did not close them and the smile brimming over his face was one of the most beautiful images Canaan had ever seen. The fog was burning off more rapidly now, swirling around him and Lucifer himself seemed less distinct in the strong glow. He looked over his shoulder at her one last time, same brilliant smile gleaming and she did her best to return it.

When she finally had to blink away the tears standing in her eyes the mist was gone. He was gone with it. But the clear morning was still beautiful and the world still turned. She buried her face in the soft ruff of the puppy's neck. "Let's go home, _yeah?"_

Gathering her things from the house she was thankful for the constant exuberance underfoot. She packed the car and her new saving grace for the long trip back. As her wheels crunched over the gravel in the long driveway her watch beeped. Huh? Pausing briefly to look it was her alarm going off. She always set it for 8A on her days off, loath to miss any free time out from her insane schedule Well, she'd work on making it simply 'busy' from now on, not 'blistering'. She had a life to live, too. Patting the dog buckled into the harness she'd found on her front seat, something weird caught her eye again – the date on the watch. Friday. It was as if only one night had passed while she'd been here…Canaan smiled, thinking Amenadiel had kept good on his end after all. "Good thing, hmm? Need a job to feed you, miss. Might have to ask for a raise if the size of those feet are any tell."

She turned to look back at the house, but the mist seemed to be returning and she could not make it out distinctly. As she continued down to the end of the driveway it seemed it wasn't the mist blurring reality after all; the gates were dissolving too. No longer needed, she supposed. Animal and human took a last look back at the empty bluff and waving grasses over it…like nothing else had ever been. But oh, it had and the fact that she remembered was enough.

Returning home after only a few breaks along the way to appreciate nature and the insistency of caring for mortal demands, Canaan was grateful to be within her own walls where nothing was changed. Granted, slightly less serene than before with the addition of scrabbly puppy nails on the hardwoods and curious whines, but she was pleased for the adorable distraction. She shouldered the door closed, booty from quick grocery run loaded in both arms. They'd been lucky to get out alive – everyone wanted to coo and ahh over her new companion. "Gift from a friend, yes…possibly new therapy dog in training for the hospital." Wow, where had THOSE perfect words come from? She'd grinned; maybe she wasn't so far out of the loop yet as she'd thought. She grinned wider considering the prospect of introducing Schroeder to the little old couple at the café…strange inklings of their identity crossing the mistier regions of her mind. Canaan looked down at the big brown eyes at her knees, wondering how big she'd actually get. Exactly what does 'not gargantuan' mean to someone who can span universes? "Go explore…it's your home now, too. But not on the the…!" She sighed as the dog leaped up on her loveseat, curled a wet nose under her furry tail and gave her opportunistic opinion on the matter of creature comforts by dropping promptly off to sleep.

She put the food away, poured herself a glass of wine and settled herself beside the fuzzy lump on the loveseat. And almost immediately stood back up. Something HAD changed. Her copper box was here _(although she'd been certain she'd packed it earlier!)_ next to the picture she'd painted for Lucifer and the Kintsukouri she'd given him stood next to hers on her mantle. A small piece of parchment was tucked just behind the frame, and she drew it out. His handwriting so like him, tall, flowing scripted elegance. "Thank you ever so, for seeing me this way. For letting me show you."

Canaan sat back down, one hand on the sleeping animal, the other over her heart. 'Thank you indeed, my friend. For it all. _Ever so_.'


	49. Time Passages (2): The End is the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speculation is fun. This is only one of many (and I'm sure there are infinitely more, Horatio ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the long trail comes to an end; it really did get out of hand and believe it or not, not every single rabbit hole was chased through the thickets. Ain't that scary? ;-) If you've read along and enjoyed I am so very pleased – thank you!

[ - ]

The steep path transecting the bluff was becoming more difficult to traverse as the years wore on, but she performed the near-daily ritual no matter the ache of her bones, pain in her chest nor the clemency of weather whenever she was home. And this was home now: built and lived in proximity to all her most important influences, past and present. After each session on the beach she spent time quietly in the grove of trees, quite extensively thicketed now from the original three. She was the closest she was able to deep peace performing these rituals, and action of feeling was what she considered prayer. She'd had such experiences for a long lifetime and felt lucky for them, from the minor magic of daily turns of the sun to true miracle and through tragedies: it was **enough** to just sit, and sift through reflective memory lately. And one very early morning in very early spring it was there that he found her.

She was the same and yet so different. Long hair still, but glossily pure in hue as the thoughts of an infant. Braided back with a few loose tendrils floating in the salt breezes. Her small frame was stooped a bit, and the talented hands were care-worn but still strong: she was planting early pansies under the rough-hewn stone bench. Tools, dirt and little crates of flowers were scattered around her. A long skirt, worn boots and a loose sweater with sleeves rolled up to work in all the raw colors of scant springtime in New England made her seem as if the land and sea had joined to furl this small human. He approached from the side, hidden still, wanting to see her face. The unprompted yes of her eyes. Rather than being diminished by age, it had illustrated her. Discipline-chiseled profile and fine webbed lines with the topography of experience drawn on her – he was pleased to see most were upturned around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. She'd been happy, and this pleased him. She wasn't the woman he'd known, but he still found her beautiful, almost more so now because of how she'd chosen to live. Lucifer felt a wash of gentle affection flood him…remembering how to sift the sparkling sand grains of human emotion. She paused in her tasks, head tilting, then carefully set down the few flowers she was holding into the spot she'd prepared. Brushing earth from her hands she looked up into where the breeze was making music for the entwined branches to dance in. Clear hazel eyes electric with all the colorful power he'd always been so surprised to find in a finite body. Canaan sat back on her heels, smiling.

"Hello, friend."

He grinned with pleasure. He should have learned long ago never to underestimate her.

Lucifer walked toward the bench and sat down, each movement drawing him further into this plane. By the time he was in front of her she could not only sense him, but see him as well. He was smiling, reaching out his hands to help her rise. Clasping them, she stood in front of him for a moment, just drinking him in.

"Nice quantum suit. Beats Prada." She tilted her head. "Still so beautiful."

He laughed. "As are you."

A small dismissive wince. "Time passes for us differently."

"Not here. Wild in heart." He laid a hand over where hers beat, as she'd done for him so often. "And that's everything that matters." Feeling the arrhythmia through the strength of her pulse. He'd arrived just in time.

She closed her eyes and smiled.

"Come. Be with me. Tell me of you." Pulling her gently toward the bench beside him, turning them to face the rising sun over the ocean, sassafras trees compounding rather than obscuring their view.

"What can I say you don't already know?" He laughed again. Still direct. Still excising truth with ease. He'd always remained aware of her in this world and she could feel that. She leaned into his side, questions tumbling over in her mind. She began with the most important to her.

"Tell me of **you**. Are you…have you been happy?"

"Yes."

"I'm so glad. I thought you would be…it was the only thing that made letting you go bearable." He closed his hand over hers, pressing gently.

"I've learned a great deal."

"Have you now? Such as…?"

He chuckled; she was still as curious and pragmatic as ever. "I know now what happens to the souls that belong with my father." She tightened her grip on his hand…she knew exactly what this meant to him. He'd truly been invited home. No longer fallen away. His schisms healed and memories intact. And more…she could know what happened to those she loved and lost too soon. Her heartbeat, always erratic now, thundered inside her. That prospect was too large…too profound to voice first. Mouth dry with wonder, she asked him another question.

"Do you still…"

"…judge? Well, I perform as I'm asked, not conscripted, mind….and only one of my roles…and knowing now as I do it's more wonderfully complex than I can say in your words."

"Are you here to judge me?"

He heard the first tremor of fear in her voice. Lucifer turned to look at her, eyes lowered, shoulders now not just stooped with age, but with trepidation. She was remembering that devastating winter morning on his mountain. He drew a hand under her chin, gently applying pressure to raise her gaze to his. He basked in the light from her eyes and illuminated his to comfort her. Still so strong…just a little farther to go...

"No, love. I'm here to escort you. If you're ready." He saw her brow furrow, quizzical. As he had responded long ago to her stubborn obtuseness, he dropped his chin and pursed one side of his mouth, eyebrow raised. Waiting for realization to dawn. Slowly, it did.

"Oh. Oh! I should have realized! I **am** old, aren't I?" A peal of laughter, as effervescent as the first time he'd ever heard it.

"Well…yes. And…a little more yes than that if you can manage it." The quizzical look returned.

"You can be more than this." He stroked her face, her shoulders. He ran his hands down her arms and gathered her hands in his. Comforting the weak shell of the strong spirit. "You **are** more than this…as you all are…but you know of what I speak. **You** can be…more. More than you know of now. And that can change what you can experience after. Freedoms you can't understand yet if you're only willing. Oh my dear one, I so hope you are." Autonomy had always been so important to him. He wanted it for her, realizing the paradox.

She kept her head lowered, looking at their hands together. His beautiful hands were the same, still so elegant. Benefits of immortality and choice in form; trumps botox and retinol any time. Nestled in his, hers looked gnarled, tired. But still capable and strong underneath the earth and wear. He was right. She felt that she could do more; be more…just not as she was.

"I don't know how…" A little apprehension…more thrill. Another adventure, perhaps? Why not?

"Let me show you. Will you trust me?" Bringing their joined hands up between them.

"I always have…even when I didn't know it." Leaning into him. He kissed her forehead.

"Do you remember that afternoon at the springfed lake? Before you pilfered the cheese? What I started to show you?"

"As if I could forget. Other than my family, it was one of the most spectacular experiences I'd ever had. It felt like I was at one in everything I could imagine…and especially what I couldn't."

"Well then. This will be easier than you realize." A warm smile and a caress of her creased cheek with his hand. "Take a last look around. This **is** a place of beauty and serenity you've cultivated…it's just not everything my father has to offer for you to work with."

She stood with difficulty, the ever-present spasm in her chest deepening. Pain had never frightened her, and didn't now. She just wondered what lay on the other side of it now that the doorway was opening before her. Looking through her beloved trees at the new light glinting over the ocean. Hearing the sea birds crying, clarifying the currents of wind with their flight. Scent of brine and freshly turned earth. Turning her head to look at the small house she'd had built further back on the bluff…so many happy hours there: with friends, with patients and some of the best times of all - alone in her thoughts with books and art as familiar companions. Looking down at the few flowers still left unplanted.

"Will you help me first? I'm responsible for these little lives."

"As you've been for so many others."

She sighed. "Sometimes things work out, sometimes not…" A far-seeing look in her eyes. Jaw flexed.

His voice was gentle. "Yes well, as someone I care for once said, 'some things are above a human pay grade to discern'."

"Sounds like a pompous fool. Or an ass." Same wry grin. Same raised left eyebrow. The sardonic quip made him chuckle. He helped her with the last of the flowers, noting how her breath came with more difficulty in the effort and the faded rose tones of her mouth slowly tinged with blue. Soon, now. He brought her once more to sit with him on the stone bench, facing the morning sunshine. She closed her eyes, feeling its warmth on her face coming dressed in the cold breeze. Appreciating the feel of both. He opened his mouth to ask if she was ready, but before he could speak she said, "Yes." Opening her eyes, beautifully, luminescently wild with the energy he knew she'd always fostered underneath.

"I'm so glad." He pressed her hand.

"What do I do?" As ever with anything new – less fear, far more curiosity. He loved that about her. Loved her. Agape, eros, philia, storge…there were so many more ways than they knew of here. Could fathom. She'd understand exactly what all that meant soon.

"Just keep looking….you'll see."

As on that long ago afternoon, she felt the air around her become somehow more real, sights become more vivid and she could begin to hear everything clearly: from the uneven thrum of blood spun by her laboring heart to the smallest rush of the smallest rippling waves on the tiny stones of the shoreline far below. And beyond to ever more. Rapt as she listened.

"Oh…I'd forgotten how very beautiful all your music was…how could I have?"

He smiled, watching her wonder. Knowing what was coming next and so very happy for her.

Still looking east through the trees, her eyes began to narrow, focusing. She struggled to rise. Taking a painful breath at the objecting slam of her heart as she stood. Feeling it fade away as she concentrated on what seemed to be happening in front of her. The light coming through the original three suddenly seemed as if it **was of** the trees…each of them radiating a soft, hazy sunrise glow, emanating from the branches. She walked slowly…long her habit in an aging body, but not aware of any pain, just a growing sense of astonishment. The lights…so beautiful. Glimmering silken strands woven into an impossible mirage of colors. She was drawn to them as a moth to a flame, wanting to be consumed in the strange beauty before her. She paused, the tangled branches forming a sheltering canopy over her head. Reaching out…

Three lights from the three largest trees came to her. Warping and wefting together over her, around her; sharing their glow as joy like she'd never knew existed, but yet familiar…how? She closed her eyes and could still see them shine…could feel them cleansing any remnant of the fallacy of separation away. And then she knew. Gratitude and joy were all she could fathom and any grief was forgotten instantly in the delight of reunion. This was beyond words, beyond thought…far beyond every hope she'd ever had since she'd lost them. For an instant spanning forever she stood within their glow, so very thankful. When it slowly faded from her sight she wasn't frightened or sad as she felt their luminosity as a living part of her now…as they had always been. Pain and her old constructs had kept her apart from this knowledge and she relinquished that last, unneeded barrier, finally feeling whole and complete. She heard Lucifer's beautiful voice so very clearly. "It took forgiving yourself to finally accept their love – as a cherished wife, devoted mother – the gifts they've given as they continue on. As they've always had love from you. Everything is connected as it's ever been and you'll never feel isolated from them again." Turning to look back at her friend on the bench she startled at what she saw.

A small shape rested on the thick stone, curled up like a sleeping child. An unnecessary husk wrapped in the flutter of a windblown cloth skirt, muddy boots and loose sweater in the colors of a raw, early New England spring day. One arm trailed down, fingertips resting in the flowers they'd planted. The face was mostly obscured, tucked into the loose cotton and cushioned on the other elbow, but she didn't have to see it to know the smile of satisfaction that rested on its countenance. And beside it, something wonderful…starting with a shimmer laying on the frail, crumpled shoulder.

"It was a lovely body. It endured a great deal and served you well."

For the first time, she could truly appreciate her friend. Glowing with the condensed light of a thousand bright suns, but not harshly glaring. Just warm brilliance. The last strong star of morning heralding the transition from the cumulative darkness of raw material to the creative radiance of the rising sun. And the most gorgeous illuminations of what looked like layers of pure white incandescence moving behind him. Sieving and honing the energy around them to bolster her own transition. His wings. Restored beyond their original glory. She was sure this form was as transient as the other he'd shown her, but she was still dazzled at what she saw. Wait…

"I can see? How? How does that work? Without optic nerves? Now…after…?"

She heard the most beautiful sound…his delighted laughter. He was elated - this was going to be so much fun…

"Still pragmatic, hey? Do you think you're talking with vocal chords now? Am I? Do you think you're hearing me with ears, you silly git? Do you now? **Do you think these are words I'm expressing to you?** " She paused, confused. Laughter again, not unkind, just playful. "It's all right, you'll find there's so much now to do, to learn than was dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio…and infinitely more beyond that. And on to the when of after back to the start of until."

"I have questions…so many questions…"

"And you have time to find answers…all the time you need." Rising to come toward her. She could feel the warmth flooding from him. Extending toward the center of her mind where she was barely beginning to create a new form for herself. A clean, unblemished one. She no longer needed a scar to scaffold and define her. She could be and do so much more now…help more now. She felt she couldn't be happier…until he came closer still.

"And this…" she felt rather than heard his words.

"…this…" one luminescent extension touched her very soul, releasing the sound of a tremendously powerful choral song, each distinct note every single miracle that existed, could be and ever was, on every scale. The immortal now of compounding infinities wasn't large enough to contain the pour of joy she was being baptized with.

"…is every nuance of the deceptively simple word 'love'. And revealing this as we can is everything that has ever mattered. A gift from the ultimate Artist for us all. Can't wait to see how you share it now."

Illimitable music all around her…his gift. She couldn't wait to choose hers. To begin.

"Welcome home, love."

_**Fin** _


End file.
